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i  Xi 


MY  PRISONS, 

MEMOIRS 

OF 

SILVIO    PELLICO 

OF 

SALUZZO. 


Homo  aatuB  de  muUere,  brevi  vivena  tempore,  repletui  multis  miseriis. 

Job. 


CAMBRIDGE: 

PRINTED  BY   CHARLES    FOLSOM. 

M  DCCC  XXXVI. 


Entered  according  to  the  act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1836,  by 
Andrews  Norton,  in  the  Clerk's  office  of  the  District  Court 
of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


EDITOR'S   NOTE./^  "    '"' 


The  "Prisons"  of  Silvio  Pellico  will  hold 
a  permanent  place  in  the  literature  of  the  world  ; 
and  a  faithful  translation  must  be  a  valuable 
addition  to  that  of  any  country.  This  book 
was  pubhshed  in  1832,  and  has  spread  rapidly 
throughout  Europe,  in  many  editions  of  the 
original  and  of  translations  into  various  lan- 
guages. It  is  a  precious  fragment  of  mental 
and  moral  autobiography,  connected  with  a  nar- 
rative of  great  interest.  Perhaps  no  writer  has 
ever  laid  open  his  heart  with  less  artifice  or 
vanity  than  its  author.  It  exhibits  an  individual, 
gentle,  refined,  a  man  of  feeling  and  of  genius, 
made  better  by  severe  and  long-continued  suf- 
fering, exercising  under  it  the  affections  and 
virtues  of  a  Christian,  bearing  it  with  religious 
fortitude  and  hope,  and  alleviating  it  by  con- 
stant intellectual  occupations  ;  so  that  after  ten 
years  of  cruel   imprisonment,    during   which  he 

13G0155 


vi  EDITOR'S    NOTE. 

was  cut  off  from  almost  all  the  common  means 
of  improvement,  he  has  returned  to  the  world, 
to  do  honor  to  humanity,  strengthened  in  virtue, 
with  the  powers  of  his  mind  in  full  action,  and 
prepared  to  be  a  moral  teacher  of  his  fellow 
men. 

The  style  of  thought  and  language  is  distin- 
guished by  transparent  simplicity,  candor,  moral 
purity,  quiet  self-command,  and  freedom  from 
angry  feeling  and  from  ostentation.  One  great 
charm  of  the  work  is  the  reliance  of  its  author 
upon  the  artless  expression  of  sincere  rehgious 
sentiments  and  kind  affections,  as  having  power 
over  the  hearts  of  his  readers  ;  a  reliance  which 
has  been  justified  by  the  event ;  for  the  favor 
with  which  his  book  has  been  received  is  one 
of  the  most  gratifying  indications  of  the  state 
of  our  times. 

Soon  after  the  appearance  of  the  original,  the 
following  translation  was  commenced  from  in- 
terest in  the  work,  without  a  view  to  publica- 
tion. When  completed,  however,  it  was  placed 
at  my  disposal  ;  and  it  being  understood  that 
Signer   Maroncelli   was    desirous    of    pubHshing 


EDITOR'S    NOTE.  VU 

in  this  country  a  translation  of  Pellico's  work 
in  connexion  with  a  translation  of  his  own 
"  Additions,"  this  was  offered  to  and  has  been 
accepted  by  him. 

I  have  added  the  few  marginal  notes  in  this 
volume.  The  short  accounts  of  different  in- 
dividuals mentioned  have  been  taken  principally 
from  the  notes  to  a  London  edition  of  the 
original,  which  appear  to  be  the  work  of  some 
well-informed  writer. 

A.  N. 


Cambridge,  Januanj,   1836. 


PREFACE. 


Have  I  ^M-itten  these  ^Memoirs  to  grati- 
fy my  vanity  by  speaking  of  myself?  I 
hope  not.  And  as  far  as  one  may  judge 
in  his  o^^Ti  case,  it  appears  to  me  that 
I  have  had  better  motives :  —  that  of 
contributing  to  the  comfort  of  the  unhap- 
py, by  making  known  the  e^ils  I  have 
borne,  and  the  consolations  I  have  found  at- 
tainable under  the  greatest  misfortunes ;  — 
that  of  bearing  witness,  that,  in  the  midst 
of  my  long  sufferings,  I  have  not  found 
human  nature  so  degraded,  so  unworthy 
of    indulgence,   so    deficient   in   excellent 


PREFACE. 


characters,  as  it  is  commonly  represent- 
ed ;  —  that  of  inviting  noble  hearts  to  love 
much,  to  hate  no  human  being,  to  feel 
irreconcilable  hatred  only  towards  mean 
deceit,  pusillanimity,  perfidy,  and  all  moral 
degradation  ;  —  that  of  repeating  a  truth 
well  known,  but  often  forgotten  :  that  both 
Religion  and  Philosophy  require  an  ener- 
getic will  and  calm  judgment ;  and  that 
without  the  union  of  these  qualities  there 
can  be  neither  justice,  nor  dignity,  nor 
strength  of  prmciple. 


MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    I. 


On  Friday  the  13th  of  October,  1820,  I  was 
arrested  at  Milan,  and  carried  to  the  prison  of 
Santa  Margherita.  It  was  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon.  I  was  immediately  subjected  to  a 
long  examination,  which  was  continued  through 
several  days.  But  of  this  I  shall  say  nothing. 
Like  a  lover  ill-treated  by  his  mistress,  and 
manfully  resolved  to  keep  himself  aloof  from 
her,  I  shall  leave  politics  where  they  are,  and 
speak  of  other  things. 

At  nine  in  the  evening  of  that  miserable  Fri- 
day, the  notary  consigned  me  to  the  gaoler, 
who  conducted  me  to  the  room  destined  for  me. 
He  civilly  requested  me  to  give  up  to  him  (to 
be  restored  in  due  time)  my  watch,  my  money, 
and  every  tiling  else  that  I  had  in  my  pockets, 
and  respectfully  wished  me  a  good  night. 

"  Stop,  dear  Sir,"  said  I  to  him,  "  I  have 
not  dined  to-day  ;  let  something  be  brought  me." 
1 


2  MY    PRISONS. 

"  Immediately  ;  the  eating-house  is  near,  and 
you  will  find  the  wine  good,  Sir." 

"  I  do  not  drink  wine." 

At  this  answer,  Signor  Angiolino  looked  a- 
larmed,  and  hoped  that  I  was  jesting.  Gaolers 
who  sell  wine  have  a  horror  of  an  abstemious 
prisoner. 

"  Indeed,  I  do  not  drink  it." 

"I  am  sorry  for  you  ;  you  will  suffer  doubly 
from  solitude  ..." 

Perceiving  that  I  did  not  change  my  deter- 
mination, he  went  out,  and  in  less  than  half  an 
hour  I  had  my  dinner.  I  ate  a  few  mouthfuls, 
swallowed  a  glass  of  water,  and  was  left  alone. 

My  room  was  upon  the  lower  floor,  and  looked 
out  upon  the  court.  There  were  cells  on  each 
side,  above,  and  opposite.  I  leaned  on  the  win- 
dow, and  listened  for  some  time  to  the  passing 
and  repassing  of  the  gaolers,  and  to  the  wild 
singing  of  several  of  the  prisoners, 

I  reflected  :  "  A  century  ago,  this  was  a  mon- 
astery ;  the  holy  and  penitent  virgins  who  dwelt 
here  never  imagined,  that  at  this  day  their  cells 
would  resound  no  more  with  the  sighs  of  women 
and  with  pious  hymns,  but  with  blasphemies  and 
indecent    songs,    and   would   contain  men  of  all 


MY    PRISONS.  3 

kinds,  the  greater  part  destined  to  hard  labor, 
or  to  the  gallows.  And  a  century  hence  who 
will  breathe  in  these  cells  .?  Oh !  rapid  flight  of 
time  !  Oh  !  perpetual  change  of  things  !  Can 
he  who  reflects  upon  it  be  distressed,  if  fortune 
ceases  to  smile  upon  him,  if  he  is  buried  in 
prison,  and  threatened  with  the  gibbet  >  Yes- 
terday I  was  one  of  the  happiest  of  men  ;  to- 
day I  no  longer  possess  any  of  the  joys  which 
gladdened  my  life  ;  liberty,  intercourse  with  my 
friends,  hope  itself  is  gone.  No ;  it  would  be 
folly  to  flatter  myself  I  shall  go  hence  only 
to  be  thrown  into  some  more  horrible  den,  or 
to  be  consigned  to  the  executioner.  Well !  the 
day  after  my  death,  it  will  be  the  same  as  if  I 
had  expired  in  a  palace,  and  had  been  borne  to 
the  tomb  with  the  greatest  honors." 

These  reflections  upon  the  rapid  flight  of  time 
strengthened  my  soul.  But  my  thoughts  turned 
to  my  father,  my  mother,  my  two  brothers,  my 
two  sisters,  and  another  family,  which  I  loved 
as  if  it  were  my  own ;  and  my  philosophical 
reasoning  was  of  no  avail,  I  was  overcome,  and 
wept  like  a  child. 


MY    PRISONS 


CHAPTER    II 


Three  months  before,  I  had  been  at  Turin, 
and  had  seen  again,  after  several  years'  separa- 
tion, my  dear  parents,  one  of  my  brothers,  and 
my  two  sisters.  Our  whole  family  loved  each 
other  so  much  !  No  child  was  ever  more  loaded 
with  benefits  by  his  father  and  mother  than  my- 
self. Oh  !  how  was  I  touched  by  finding  my 
parents  more  changed  by  age  than  I  had  antici- 
pated !  How  much  I  then  wished  never  more  to 
leave  them,  but  to  devote  myself  to  solacing 
their  old  age  by  my  cares  !  How  it  grieved  me, 
during  the  few  days  that  I  remained  at  Turin, 
to  have  other  duties  which  led  me  from  my  pa- 
ternal roof,  and  to  give  so  small  a  portion  of  my 
time  to  my  beloved  relations.  My  poor  mother 
said  with  melancholy  tenderness,  "Ah!  our  Sil- 
vio has  not  come  to  Turin  to  see  «s  !  "  The 
morning  that  I  left  them  for  Milan  was  most 
sad.  My  father  got  into  the  carriage  with  me, 
and,  having  accompanied  me  for  a  mile,  return- 
ed alone.  I  looked  back  to  see  him  ;  I  wept, 
kissed  a  ring  which  my  mother  had  given  me, 
and  never  felt  such  anguish  at  parting  from  my 


MYPRISONS.  5 

family.  Having  no  great  faith  in  presentiments, 
I  was  astonished  that  I  could  not  overcome  my 
grief,  and  was  forced  to  say  Avith  apprehension, 
"Whence  this  extraordinary  disquietude?"  It 
seemed  to  me  as  if  I  foresaw  some  great  mis- 
fortune. 

Now,  in  prison,  I  remembered  that  apprehen- 
sion and  anguish.  I  remembered  all  the  words 
I  had  heard  from  my  parents  three  months 
before.  That  lament  of  my  mother,  "Ah!  our 
Silvio  has  not  come  to  Turin  to  see  us  !  "  fell 
heavy  on  my  heart.  I  reproached  myself  for 
not  having  been  a  thousand  times  more  tender 
towards  them.  —  I  loved  them  so  much,  and  I 
had  expressed  this  to  them  so  feebly  !  I  was 
never  more  to  see  them,  and  I  had  satisfied 
myself  so  little  with  the  contemplation  of  their 
dear  countenances,  and  I  had  been  so  sparing 
in  the  expressions  of  my  love  !  —  These  thoughts 
grieved  my  soul. 

I  shut  the  window,  and  walked  for  an  hour, 
believing  I  should  have  no  rest  through  the 
night.  But  I  went  to  bed,  and  weariness  made 
mc  sleep. 


MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER   III. 

To  awake  during  the  first  night  in  prison  is 
horrible.  "  Is  it  possible  ?  "  (said  I,  recollecting 
where  I  was,)  "  is  it  possible  ?  Am  I  here  ?  Is 
it  not  a  dream  ?  Was  I  then  arrested  yesterday? 
Was  it  yesterday  that  I  endured  that  long  ex- 
amination, which  must  continue  to-morrow,  and 
who  knows  when  it  will  end  ?  Was  it  last  even- 
ing that  I  wept  so  much  before  going  to  sleep, 
as  I  thought  of  my  parents  ?  " 

The  repose,  the  perfect  silence,  the  short  sleep, 
which  had  restored  my  mental  strength,  seemed 
to  have  increased  a  hundred  fold  my  capacity 
of  suffering.  In  this  total  absence  of  any  thing 
to  distract  my  thoughts,  the  distress  of  all  my 
friends,  and  particularly  of  my  father  and  mother, 
when  they  should  hear  of  my  arrest,  was  pictured 
in  my  imagination  with  incredible  force. 

"  At  this  moment,"  said  I,  "  they  are  yet 
sleeping  tranquilly,  or  if  awake,  are  perhaps 
thinking  of  me  with  pleasure,  having  no  appre- 
hension of  the  place  where  I  am  !  Oh  !  happy 
would  it  be  for  them,  if  God  should  take  them 


MYPRISONS.  7 

from  the  world  before  the  news  of  my  misfortune 
reaches  Turin  !  Who  will  give  them  strength 
to  sustain  this  blow  ?  " 

A  voice  from  within  seemed  to  reply  to  me  : 
'*  He,  whom  all  the  afflicted  invoke,  and  love,  and 
feel  within  them  !  He,  who  gave  strength  to  a 
mother,  to  follow  her  son  to  Golgotha,  and  to 
stand  under  his  cross  !  The  friend  of  the  un- 
happy, the  friend  of  mortals  !  " 

This  was  the  first  moment  that  religion  tri- 
umphed in  my  heart  ;  and  I  owed  this  blessing 
to  filial   love. 

Hitherto,  without  being  hostile  to  religion, 
I  had  felt  its  influence  but  little  and  imperfect- 
ly. The  common  objections,  which  are  brought 
against  it,  had  not  appeared  to  me  of  much 
weight,  and  yet  a  thousand  sophistical  doubts 
had  weakened  my  faith.  These  doubts  had  not 
for  a  long  time  related  to  the  existence  of  God  ; 
and  I  had  continually  repeated  to  myself,  if  God 
exists,  it  necessarily  follows  from  his  justice, 
that  there  is  another  life  for  man  who  suffers 
in  a  world  so  unjust  ;  hence  follows  the  great 
reasonableness  of  aspiring  to  the  blessings  of 
that  second  life  ;  hence  follows  a  worship  con- 
sisting of  love  to  God  and  our  neighbour,  a  per- 


8  MY    PRISONS. 

petual  striving  to  ennoble  ourselves  by  generous 
sacrifices.  I  had  for  a  long  time  gone  on  re- 
peating all  this,  and  I  had  added  :  "  And  what 
is  Christianity,  but  this  perpetual  aspiration  after 
perfection  ?  "  And  Christianity,  in  its  essential 
character,  being  so  pure,  so  philosophical,  so 
unimpeachable,  I  marvelled  that  an  age  should 
have  arrived,  when  philosophy  should  dare  to 
say,  "Henceforth  I  will  fill  its  place."  "And 
in  what  manner  wouldst  thou  fill  its  place?  By 
teaching  vice  ?"  "No,  surely."  "By  teach- 
ing virtue  .''  That  will  be  the  love  of  God  and 
our  neighbour.  It  will  be  precisely  what  Chris- 
tianity teaches." 

Although  I  had  thus  felt  for  several  years, 
I  had  avoided  the  conclusion,  "  Be  then  con- 
sistent !  Be  a  Christian  !  Be  no  longer  offended 
by  abuses  !  no  longer  dwell  perversely  on  some 
difficult  doctrine  of  the  church,  since  the  prin- 
cipal point  is  this,  and  it  is  most  plain  :  Love 
God  and  your  neighbour." 

In  prison  I  determined  at  last  to  embrace  this 
conclusion,  and  I  did  embrace  it.  I  hesitated 
somewhat  from  the  fear,  that,  if  any  one  should 
happen  to  learn  that  I  was  more  religious  than 
formerly,  he  might  think  he  had  a  right  to  con- 


MY    PRISONS.  9 

sider  me  as  a  bigot,  made  abject  by  misfortune. 
But,  knowing  that  I  was  neither  bigoted  nor 
abject,  I  felt  complacency  in  disregarding  the 
possible  blame  I  did  not  deserve  ;  and  I  resolved 
from  that  time  forward  to  be,  and  to  avow  my- 
self, a  Christian. 


10  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

It  was  some  time  before  this  became  my  set- 
tled resolution,  but  I  began  to  meditate  upon 
it,  and  in  some  degree  to  decide  upon  it,  dur- 
ing the  first  night  after  my  arrest.  Towards 
morning  my  agitation  was  calmed,  and  I  was 
astonished  at  the  change.  I  again  thought  of 
my  parents  and  of  my  other  beloved  friends  ; 
I  despaired  no  longer  of  their  strength  of  mind, 
and  I  was  consoled  by  the  recollection  of  the 
virtuous  sentiments  which  I  had  known  them  to 
possess. 

Why  was  I  so  agitated  before,  when  I  thought 
of  their  distress  ?  and  now,  why  had  I  so  much 
confidence  in  their  fortitude  ?  Was  this  happy 
change  a  miracle  ?  or  was  it  a  natural  effect  of 
my  renewed  trust  in  God  ?  And  of  what  con- 
sequence is  it  whether  we  call  the  real,  sublime 
benefits  of  religion  miracles  or  not  ? 

At  midnight  two  secondini  (under-gaolers  are 
so  called)  had  been  to  visit  me,  and  had  found  me 
in  very  bad  humor.  At  dawn  they  returned, 
and  found  me  serene  and  unaffectedly  cheerful. 


MY    PRISONS.  11 

<'  Last  night,  Signore,  you  had  the  look  of  a 
basilisk,"  said  Tirola  ;  "now  it  is  quite  differ- 
ent, and  I  am  glad  of  it  ;  it  is  a  sign  you  are  not 
(pardon  the  expression)  a  rogue  ;  because  rogues 
(I  am  old  in  the  business  and  my  observations 
have  some  Aveight),  rogues  are  more  enraged 
the  second  day  than  the  first.  Do  you  take 
snuff  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  taking  it,  but  I  will 
not  refuse  your  kindness.  As  to  your  observa- 
tion, excuse  me,  but  it  is  not  worthy  of  so  sa- 
gacious a  person  as  you  appear  to  be.  If  I 
have  not  still  the  look  of  a  basilisk  this  morn- 
ing, may  not  the  change  be  a  proof  of  folly, 
of  readiness  to  deceive  myself,  and  to  dream 
that  my  freedom  is  at  hand  ?  " 

"  I  might  suspect  that,  Signore,  if  you  were 
in  prison  for  any  other  cause;  but,  as  to  affairs 
of  state,  it  is  not  possible  in  these  days  to  sup- 
pose that  they  will  end  so  speedily,  and  you  are 
not  fool  enough  to  imagine  it.  Pardon  me,  Sir  ; 
will  you  take  another  pinch  ^  " 

"  Thank  you.  But  how  can  you  have  so  mer- 
ry a  face,  always  living  as  you  do  among  the 
nnhappy  ? " 

"  You  will  think  it  is  from  indifference  to  the 


12  MY    PRISONS. 

sufferings  of  others.  To  say  the  truth,  I  do  not 
myself  well  know  how  it  is  ;  but  I  assure  you, 
that  it  often  gives  me  pain  to  see  them  weep  ; 
and  sometimes  I  pretend  to  be  merry,  that  the 
poor  prisoners  may  smile  too." 

"  A  thought  occurs  to  me,  my  good  man,  which 
I  never  had  before  ; — that  one  may  be  a  gaoler, 
and  yet  be  made    of  very  good  materials." 

*'  One's  profession  is  nothing,  Signore.  Be- 
yond that  arch  which  you  see  across  the  court, 
there  is  another  court  and  other  prisons,  all  for 
women.  They  are,  if  I  must  say  so,  women  of 
bad  character.  Well,  Signore,  there  are  an- 
gels among  them  as  to  the  heart.  And,  if  you 
were  a  secondino  ..." 

"  I  ?  "  (and  I  burst  into  a  laugh.) 

Tirola  was  disconcerted  by  my  laugh,  and  did 
not  go  on.  Perhaps  he  intended  to  say,  that  if 
I  had  been  a  secondino,  it  would  have  been  dif- 
ficult for  me  not  to  attach  myself  to  some  one 
of  those  unfortunate  beings. 

He  asked  me  what  I  would  have  for  break- 
fast. He  went  out,  and  a  few  minutes  afterwards 
brought  me  some  coffee. 

I  looked  steadily  in  his  face,  with  a  significant 
smile,  which  meant,   "  Will   you  carry  a  letter 


MY    PRISONS.  13 

for  me  to  another  unhappy  man,  to  my  friend 
Piero  ? "  *  And  he  answered  me  with  another 
smile,  which  seemed  to  say,  "  No,  Signore  ;  and 
if  you  address  yourself  to  any  one  of  my  com- 
panions, who  says  yes  to  you,  be  sure  he  will 
betray  you." 

I  am  not  certain  that  he  understood  me,  or 
that  I  understood  him  ;  but  I  know,  that  I  was 
ten  times  upon  the  point  of  asking  him  for  a 
piece  of  paper  and  a  pencil,  and  dared  not,  be- 
cause there  was  something  in  his  eyes  which 
seemed  to  tell  me  not  to  confide  in  any  one, 
and  less  in  others  than  in  him. 

•  Piero  Maroncelli. 


14  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    V. 

If  Tirola,  with  his  expression  of  good  humor, 
had  not  also  had  something  knavish  in  his  looks, 
if  he  had  had  a  more  ingenuous  physiognomy,  I 
should  have  yielded  to  the  temptation  of  making 
him  my  ambassador  ;  and  perhaps,  if  my  letter 
had  reached  my  friend  in  time,  it  might  have 
enabled  him  to  repair  some  mistake,  and  thus, 
perhaps,  have  saved,  not  himself,  poor  fellow, 
for  too  much  was  already  discovered  respecting 
him,  but  several  others  and  myself. 

Patience  !  it  was  destined  that  things  should 
be  as  they  were. 

I  was  summoned  again  to  the  examination  ; 
and  this  lasted  all  that  day,  and  several  others, 
with  no    interval    except   that    of  dinner. 

While  the  examination  continued,  the  days 
flew  rapidly  by,  so  great  was  the  mental  exer- 
cise in  the  interminable  replies  to  such  various 
queries,  and  in  collecting  my  thoughts  at  the 
dinner  hour  and  in  the  evening,  in  order  to 
reflect  upon  all  that  I  had  been  asked,  and  what 


MY    PRISONS.  15 

I  had  answered,  and  upon  all  the  subjects,  about 
which  I  should  probably  yet  be  interrogated. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  week,  a  painful  cir- 
cumstance occurred.  My  poor  friend  Piero,  as 
desirous  as  I  was,  that  we  should  have  some 
communication,  sent  me  a  letter,  and  made  use, 
not  of  one  of  the  secondini,  but  of  an  unfortu- 
nate prisoner,  who  came  into  our  rooms  with 
them  to  perform  some  menial  services.  He  was 
a  man  between  sixty  and  seventy  years  old,  con- 
demned to  I  know  not  how  many  months  of 
imprisonment. 

With  a  pin,  which  I  had,  I  pricked  my  fin- 
ger, wrote  a  few  lines  in  reply  with  my  blood, 
and  gave  it  to  the  messenger.  He  had  the  ill 
fortune  to  be  discovered  and  searched  ;  my  letter 
was  found  upon  him,  and,  if  I  mistake  not,  he 
was  beaten.  I  heard  loud  cries,  which  seemed 
to  me  to  come  from  the  miserable  old  man,  and 
I  saw  liim  no  more. 

When  I  was  called  to  the  examination,  I  shud- 
dered at  the  sight  of  my  letter  scrawled  with 
blood,  which,  thanks  to  Heaven,  contained  no- 
thing that  could  injure  any  one,  and  had  the 
appearance  of  being  a  simple  salutation.  I  was 
asked,  with  what  I  had  drawn  blood,  the  pin  was 


16  MY    PRISONSv 

taken  from  me,  and  we  were  laughed  at  as  out- 
witted. Ah  !  I  did  not  laugh  ;  I  could  not  re- 
move from  before  my  eyes  the  image  of  the  old 
messenger.  I  would  willingly  have  suffered  any 
punishment,  provided  they  would  have  pardoned 
him ;  and  when  those  cries  reached  me,  which 
I  supposed  to  be  his,  my  heart  was  filled  with 
anguish. 

In  vain  I  repeatedly  asked  the  gaoler  and  the 
secondini  about  him.  They  shook  their  heads 
and  said,  "  He  has  paid  dear  for  it  ;  he  will 
never  do  so  again  ;  he  enjoys  a  little  more  rest." 
They  would  not   explain  themselves  further. 

Did  they  mean  that  the  unhappy  man  was 
closely  imprisoned,  or  did  they  speak  thus  be- 
cause he  had  died  under  the  beating,  or  in  con- 
sequence of  it  ? 

One  day  I  thought  I  saw  him  on  the  other 
side  of  the  court  under  the  portico,  with  a  fag- 
got of  wood  upon  his  shoulders.  My  heart  beat, 
as  if  I  had  seen  a  brother. 


MY    PRISONS.  17 


CHAPTER    VI. 

When  I   was    no   longer   tormented    by   the 

examination,    and    had    no    longer    any  thing    to 

occupy  my   days,   I    bitterly   felt   the    weight    of 

solitude. 

I  was   indeed  permitted  to  have   a  Bible   and 

Dante,  and  the  library  of  the  gaoler  was  placed 
at  my  disposal,  consisting  of  some  romances  of 
Scuderi,  Piazzi,  and  others  still  worse  ;  but  my 
mind  was  too  much  agitated  to  be  able  to  ap- 
ply itself  to  any  reading  whatever.  Every  day 
I  learnt  a  canto  of  Dante  by  heart  ;  but  this 
exercise  was  so  mechanical,  that,  while  I  was 
performing  it,  I  thought  less  of  the  verses  than 
of  my  misfortunes.  The  same  was  the  case 
whatever  I  read,  excepting  occasionally  some 
passages  in  the  Bible.  This  divine  book,  which 
I  had  always  loved  much,  even  when  I  thought 
myself  an  unbeliever,  I  now  studied  with  more 
respect  than  ever.  Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  my 
will,  I  often  read  it  with  my  thoughts  wander- 
ing, and  witliout  receiving  its  meaning.  But  by 
degrees  I  became  nble  to  meditate  npoii  it  more 
intently,  and  with  constantly  increasing  interest. 
2 


18  MY    PRISONS. 

Such  reading  never  produced  in  me  the  small- 
est tendency  to  bigotry  ;  I  mean  to  that  igno- 
rant devotion,  which  renders  one  pusillanimous 
or  fanatical.  But  it  taught  me  to  love  God 
and  man,  to  desire  more  and  more  earnestly 
the  reign  of  justice,  and  to  abhor  sin,  while  I 
pardoned  the  sinner.  Christianity,  instead  of 
destroying  any  good  dispositions,  which  philoso- 
phy had  formed  in  me,  confirmed  and  animated 
them  by  more  elevated  and  more  powerful  mo- 
tives. 

One  day,  having  read  that  we  ought  to  pray 
continually,  and  that  true  prayer  is  not  the  mut- 
tering over  of  many  words,  after  the  manner  of 
the  heathen,  but  consists  in  adoring  God  with 
sincerity,  both  in  words  and  in  actions,  and  in 
so  living  as  to  make  them  the  fulfilment  of  his 
holy  will,  I  proposed  to  myself  to  begin  in  earn- 
est this  unceasing  prayer  ;  that  is,  never  to 
indulge  a  thought  not  inspired  by  the  desire  of 
conforming  myself  to  the  laws  of  God. 

The  forms  of  prayer  I  used  in  adoration  were 
always  few  ;  not  because  I  undervalue  forms, 
(on  the  contrary  I  believe  them  to  be  very  use- 
ful, to  some  more,  to  others  less  so,  in  fixing 
the  attention  in  worship,)  but  because  I  feel  my- 


MY    PRISONS.  19 

self  so  constituted  as  to  be  unable  to  repeat 
many,  without  having  my  thoughts  distracted, 
and  forgetting  the  duty  in  which  I  am  engaged. 

This  purpose  of  always  considering  myself  as 
in  the  presence  of  God,  instead  of  being  a  fa- 
tiguing effort  of  mind,  and  exciting  my  fears, 
was  delightful  to  me.  By  remembering  that  God 
is  always  near  us,  that  He  is  in  us,  or  rather 
that  we  are  in  Him,  solitude  became  daily  less 
terrible  to  me.  "  Have  I  not  the  most  excel- 
lent society  ?  "  I  used  to  say.  And  I  became 
cheerful  ;  I  sung  and  whistled  with  pleasure 
and  tender  emotion. 

"  Well  !  "  thought  I,  "  might  not  a  fever  have 
seized  me,  and  carried  me  to  the  tomb  .''  All 
my  de;ii'  friends,  who  would  have  given  them- 
selves up  to  grief  for  my  loss,  would  yet  have 
gradually  become  resigned  to  seeing  me  no 
more.  Instead  of  a  tomb,  a  prison  swallows 
me  up  ;  ought  I  not  to  believe  that  God  will 
afford  them  equal  strength  ?  " 

My  heart  offered  the  most  fervent  prayers  for 
them,  sometimes  accompanied  with  tears  ;  but 
even  my  tears  were  mingled  witii  agreeable  feel- 
ings. 1  had  full  faith  that  God  would  sustain 
both  tliem   and  inc.      I    did    not   deceive  myself 


20  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

It  is  much  more  agreeable  to  be  at  liber- 
ty than  to  be  in  prison.  Who  can  doubt  it  ? 
Yet,  even  in  the  miseries  of  a  prison,  life  may 
pass  not  without  enjoyment,  when  we  think  that 
God  is  present  with  us,  that  the  pleasures  of 
the  world  are  fleeting,  and  that  true  good  is  to 
be  found  in  the  conscience,  not  in  outward  ob- 
jects. In  less  than  a  month,  I  had  settled  my 
course  of  action,  I  will  not  say  entirely,  but  in 
a  good  degree.  I  perceived,  that  as  I  did  not 
choose  to  purchase  impunity  by  the  ruin  of  oth- 
ers, my  fate  must  be  the  gibbet,  or  a  long  im- 
prisonment. It  was  necessary  that  I  should  re- 
concile myself  to  it.  "  I  shall  breathe,"  said 
I,  "  as  long  as  I  am  permitted,  and  when  my 
breath  is  taken  from  me,  it  will  be  with  me  as 
with  all  who  labor  under  disease,  when  their 
last  moment  arrives  ;  I  shall  die." 

I  endeavoured  to  complain  of  nothing,  and  to 
give  my  soul  every  enjoyment  in  my  power. 
My  most  common  pleasure  was,  to  renew  the 
remembrance   of  the  blessings  which  had  glad- 


MY    PRISONS.  21 

dened  my  days  ;  the  best  of  fathers,  the  best 
of  mothers,  excellent  brothers  and  sisters,  my 
various  friends,  a  good  education,  the  love  of 
letters,  &c.  To  whom  had  more  happiness  been 
granted  than  to  me  ?  Why  should  I  not  thank 
God  for  it,  although  it  was  now  tempered  with 
misfortune  ?  Sometimes,  when  I  made  this  enu- 
meration, my  heart  was  softened,  and  I  wept  for 
a  moment  ;  but  my  courage  and  cheerfulness 
soon  returned. 

I  had  very  early  acquired  a  friend.  It  was 
not  the  gaoler,  nor  one  of  the  secondinij  nor 
any  of  my  examiners.  Yet  I  speak  of  a  hu- 
man being.  Who  was  it  ?  A  boy  five  or  six 
years  old,  who  was  deaf  and  dumb.  His  father 
and  mother  were  thieves,  and  had  suffered  the 
penalty  of  the  law.  The  wretched  orphan  was 
maintained  by  the  police,  with  several  other  chil- 
dren in  similar  circumstances.  They  all  lived  in 
a  room  in  front  of  mine,  and  at  certain  hours 
their  door  was  opened,  that  they  might  come  out 
to  take  the  air  in  the  court. 

The  deaf  and  dumb  boy  came  under  my  win- 
dow, smiled  at  me,  and  gesticulated.  I  threw 
him  a  large  piece  of  bread  ;  he  took  it,  jump- 
ed for  joy,   ran   to  his   companions,  gave  some 


22  MY    PRISONS. 

of  it  to  each  of  them,  and  then  came  to  eat 
his  portion  of  it  near  my  window,  expressing  his 
gratitude   by  the   smile   of  his  beautiful  eyes. 

The  other  children  looked  at  me  from  a  dis- 
tance, but  did  not  dare  to  approach  ;  the  deaf 
and  dumb  child  had  a  great  sympathy  for  me, 
and  not  wholly  from  interested  motives.  Some- 
times he  knew  not  what  to  do  with  the  bread 
that  I  threw  to  him,  and  made  signs  to  me  that 
he  and  his  companions  had  eaten  enough,  and 
could  eat  no  more.  If  he  saw  a  secondino  com- 
ing into  my  room,  he  gave  him  the  bread  to 
take  back  to  me.  Although  he  then  expected 
nothing  from  me,  he  continued  to  play  about  the 
window  with  a  charming  grace,  delighted  by  my 
looking  at  him.  A  secondino  once  permitted  the 
boy  to  come  into  my  cell.  He  had  scarcely 
entered,  when  he  ran  to  embrace  my  knees,  ut- 
tering a  cry  of  joy.  I  took  him  in  my  arms, 
and  the  eagerness  with  which  he  loaded  me 
with  caresses  is  indescribable.  How  much  love 
was  in  that  dear  little  soul  !  How  I  wished 
I  could  educate  him,  and  save  him  from  the  de- 
graded state  in  which  he  was. 

I   never  knew  his   name  ;   he   himself  did  not 
know  that  he  had  one.     He  was  always  happy  ; 


M  Y    P  R  I  S  O  N  S  .  23 

I  never  saw  him  cry  but  once,  when  he  was 
beaten,  I  know  not  why,  by  the  gaoler.  What 
a  strange  thing  !  To  live  in  such  a  place  seems 
the  height  of  misfortune  ;  yet  that  boy  certainly 
enjoyed  as  much  happiness,  as  he  could  have 
done  at  his  age,  had  he  been  the  son  of  a 
prince.  I  reflected  on  this,  and  learned,  that 
it  is  possible  to  make  our  state  of  mind  inde- 
pendent of  place.  Let  us  govern  the  imagina- 
tion, and  we  shall  be  well  almost  everywhere. 
A  day  is  soon  passed,  and  at  night,  if  we  lie 
down  without  hunger,  or  acute  pain,  of  what 
consequence  is  it  whether  our  bed  is  between 
the  walls  of  what  is  called  a  prison,  or  of  what 
is  called  a  house  or  a  palace  ? 

Excellent  reasoning  !  but  how  is  the  imagina- 
tion to  be  governed  ?  I  have  tried  to  do  it, 
and  truly  I  have  sometimes  thought  I  succeed- 
ed wonderfully ;  but  at  other  times  it  resumed 
its  tyranny,  and,  vexed  with  myself,  I  was  as- 
tonished at  my  weakness. 


M  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

"  In  my  unhappy  condition,  I  am  so  far  fortu- 
nate," said  I,  "  that  a  cell  has  been  given  me  on 
the  ground  floor,  looking  out  upon  this  court, 
where  that  dear  boy,  with  whom  I  have  so  much 
pleasure  in  talking  by  signs,  can  come  within 
a  few  steps  of  me.  Wonderful  human  intelli- 
gence !  How  many  things  we  say  to  each  other, 
by  means  of  the  infinitely  various  expressions 
of  the  eyes  and  other  features  !  How  graceful 
are  his  motions,  when  I  smile  upon  him  !  How 
he  corrects  them,  when  he  sees  that  they  dis- 
please me  !  How  he  understands  that  I  love 
him,  when  he  caresses  or  makes  a  present  to  one 
of  his  companions  !  No  one  in  the  world  imag- 
ines it  ;  yet  I,  standing  at  my  window,  am  able 
to  be  a  kind  of  instructer  to  that  poor  little  crea- 
ture. By  repeating  our  interchange  of  signs,  we 
shall  perfect  the  communication  of  our  ideas. 
The  more  he  perceives  that  he  is  instructed  and 
improved  by  me,  the  more  he  will  be  attached 
to  me.  I  shall  be  to  him  the  genius  of  reason 
and  goodness ;   he  will  learn   to  confide   to   me 


MY    PRISONS.  25 

his  sorrows,  his  pleasures,  his  desires  ;  I  shall 
learn  how  to  console,  to  elevate,  to  direct  him 
in  all  his  conduct.  Who  knows  whether,  my 
fate  remaining  undecided  from  month  to  month,  I 
may  not  be  left  to  grow  old  here  ?  Who  knows 
but  this  boy  may  grow  up  under  my  eyes,  and 
may  be  employed  in  some  service  in  this  house  ? 
With  so  much  talent  as  he  shows,  who  can  tell 
what  he  may  become  .''  Alas  !  nothing  more 
than  an  excellent  secotidhio,  or  something  simi7 
lar.  Well,  shall  I  not  have  done  a  good  deed, 
i£  I  shall  have  contributed  to  inspire  him  with 
the  desire  of  obtaining  the  approbation  of  good 
men  and  his  own,  and  to  give  him  the  habit  of 
affectionate  sentiments  .''  " 

This  soliloquy  was  veiy  natural.  1  had  always 
felt  a  great  interest  in  children,  and  the  office 
of  an  instructor  appeared  to  me  sublime.  I  had 
filled  this  office  for  some  years  towards  Giacomo 
and  Giulio  Porro,*  two  young  boys  of  great 
promise,  whom  I  loved,  and  always  shall  love, 
as  my  sons.  God  knows  how  many  times  I 
thought  of  thcin  in  my  prison  !  how  much  I 
was   distressed   tliat   1   could   not   complete  their 


•Tho  Hons  of  Count  Luigi  Porro,  who  is  mentionod  nf- 
Icrwards. 


26  MY    PRISONS. 

education  !  how  ardently  I  desired,  that  they 
might  find  another  master,  who  would  feel  equal 
affection  for  them  !  Sometimes  I  exclaimed  to 
myself  ;  "  What  a  wretched  parody  this  is  ! 
Instead  of  Giacomo  and  Giulio,  youths  adorned 
with  all  that  nature  and  fortune  can  give,  I  have 
for  my  pupil  a  poor  deaf  and  dumb  child,  in  rags, 
the  son  of  a  thief!  .  .  .  who  at  the  very  best  Avill 
become  a  secondino,  or,  in  less  elegant  language, 
9,  shirro." 

These  reflections  confounded  and  disturbed 
me.  But  scarcely  did  I  hear  the  shrill  cry  of 
my  little  mute  before  my  blood  was  stirred,  as 
a  father's,  who  hears  the  voice  of  his  child.  And 
that  cry  and  his  appearance  dissipated  every 
thought  of  his  meanness.  "  And  is  it  his  fault," 
thought  I,  "if  he  is  ragged,  and  imperfect  in  his 
senses,  and  belongs  to  a  race  of  thieves  ?  A 
human  soul  at  the  age  of  innocence  is  always 
to  be  respected."  Thus  I  regarded  him  every 
day  with  more  affection.  It  appeared  to  me  that 
he  increased  in  intelligence,  and  I  was  confirmed 
in  the  agreeable  project  of  applying  myself  to 
his  improvement  ;  and,  fancying  all  possibilities, 
I  thought  that  perhaps  I  should  one  day  be  re- 
leased from  prison,  and  might  find  means  to 
place  this  boy  in  the   school   for   the    deaf  and 


MY    PRISONS.  2? 

dumb,  and  thus  open  to  him  the  way  to   a  hap- 
pier fortune  than  that  of  being  a  sbirro. 

One  day,  while  occupied  thus  delightfully  with 
projects  for  his  good,  two  secotidini  came  to  take 
me  away. 

"You  must  change  your  lodging,  Signore." 

"What  do  you   mean  ?  " 

"  It  is  ordered  that  you  should  be  removed 
to  another  room." 

"  Why  .?  " 

"  Some  other  great  bird  has  been  caught, 
and  this  being  the  best  room  .  .  .  you  under- 
stand ..." 

"  I  understand  ;  this  is  the  first  resting-place 
for  new  comers." 

And  they  carried  me  to  a  room  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  court,  but,  alas  !  not  on  the 
lower  floor,  nor  where  I  could  converse  with 
the  little  mute.  Passing  through  the  court,  I 
saw  that  dear  boy  seated  on  the  ground,  con- 
founded, and  sad  ;  he  comprehended  that  he  was 
about  to  lose  me.  In  an  instant  he  got  up,  and 
ran  to  meet  mo.  The  secondiin  would  have  driv- 
en him  away  ;  I  took  him  in  my  arms,  and,  dirty 
as  he  was,  I  kissed  him  tenderly  again  and  again, 
and  separated  myself  from  him  —  should  I  tell 
it  '■  —  my  eyes  streaming  with  tears. 


28  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

My  poor  heart,  loving  so  readily  and  so  warm- 
ly, to  how  many  separations  hast  thou  been 
already  doomed  !  This  was  certainly  not  the 
least  sorrowful  ;  and  I  felt  it  the  more,  as  my 
new  lodging  was  very  dismal.  It  was  a  mis- 
erable chamber,  dark  and  gloomy,  with  paper 
instead  of  glass  in  the  window,  and  the  walls 
polluted  with  vile,  colored  daubings,  I  dare  not 
say  of  what.  In  the  places  which  were  not 
painted,  were  inscriptions.  Many  simply  told 
the  name  and  the  country  of  some  unhappy 
man,  with  the  date  of  the  sad  day  of  his  arrest. 
Others  added  exclamations  against  false  friends, 
against  the  writer  himself,  against  a  mistress, 
against  the  judge,  &c.  Some  were  compends 
of  autobiography,  and  some  contained  moral 
sentences.     There  were  these  words  of  Pascal  : 

"  Let  those  who  attack  relisrion,  at  least  learn 
what  it  is,  before  attacking  it.  If  this  religion 
boasted  of  having  a  clear,  unveiled  view  of  God, 
it  would  be  attacking  it  to  say,  that  ive  see  tw- 
ihing  in  the  world  which  manifests  Him  toith  such 
distinctness.     But  since  it  says,  on  the  contrary, 


MY    PRISONS.  29 

that  men  are  in  darkness  and  removed  from 
God,  that  he  hides  himself  from  their  knowl- 
edge, and  that  even  the  name  he  gives  him- 
self in  the  Scriptures  is  Dens  absconditus  (the 
hidden  God)  ;  what  advantage  can  they  gain, 
when,  with  the  negligence  which  they  profess  in 
the  search  after  truth,  they  exclaim,  that  no- 
thing shows  them  the  truth  ?  " 

Underneath  were  written  these  words  from 
the  same  author  : 

"  This  is  not  a  point  of  slight  interest,  which 
concerns  a  person  indifferent  to  us  ;  it  concerns 
ourselves,  and  our  whole  existence.  The  im- 
mortality of  the  soul  is  something  so  important 
to  us,  and  touches  us  so  deeply,  that  we  must 
have  lost  all  feeling,  to  be  indifferent  to  the 
knowledge  of  what  relates  to  it." 

In  another   place  was  : 

"■  I  bless  the  prison,  since  it  has  made  me 
know  the  ingratitude  of  men,  my  own  misery, 
and  the  goodness  of  God." 

By  the  side  of  these  humble  words,  were  the 
most  violent  and  haughty  imprecations,  by  one, 
who  called  himself  an  atheist,  and  who  vented 
his  passion  against  God,  as  if  he  had  forgotten 
that  he  had  said  there  was  no  God. 


30  MY    PRISONS. 

After  a  column  of  such  blasphemies,  followed 
another,  reviling  those  mean  spirits,  so  he  call- 
ed them,  whom  the  misfortune  of  imprisonment 
made  religious. 

I  showed  this  wickedness  to  one  of  the  se- 
condini,  and  asked  him  who  had  written  it.  "  I 
am  glad  to  have  found  that  writing,"  said  he  ; 
"  there  are  so  many  of  them,  and  I  have  so 
little  time  to  look  for  them  ! " 

And  without  saying  more,  he  began  to  scratch 
the  wall  with  a  knife  to  erase  it. 

"  Why  do  you  do  that  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Because  the  poor  devil  who  wrote  it,  being 
condemned  to  die  for  premeditated  murder,  re- 
pented, and  sent  to  beg  me  to  do  him  this  kind- 
ness." 

"God  pardon  him  !  "  exclaimed  I.  "  What 
was  the  murder  ?  " 

^'  Not  being  able  to  kill  his  enemy,  he  avenged 
himself  by  killing  his  son,  the  most  beautiful  boy 
in  the  world." 

I  shuddered.  —  Can  ferocity  go  so  far  .''  And 
such  a  monster  held  the  insulting  language  of 
a  man  superior  to  all  human  weakness  !  To 
kill  an  innocent  being  !  a  child  ! 


MY    PRISONS.  31 


CHAPTER    X. 

Ix  my  new  room,  so  dark  and  so  filthy,  de- 
prived of  the  company  of  the  dear  deaf  and 
dumb  child,  I  was  oppressed  by  sadness.  I  re- 
mained many  houi"s  at  the  window,  which  looked 
out  upon  a  gallery,  and  beyond  the  gallery  I  saw 
the  extremity  of  the  court  and  the  window  of 
my  former  room.  Who  had  succeeded  me  ?  I 
saw  there  a  man  walking  about  rapidly,  like  one 
full  of  agitation.  Two  or  three  days  afterwards, 
I  observed  that  he  was  furnished  with  materials 
for  writing,  and  then  he  remained  sitting  all  day 
at  the  table. 

At  last  I  recognised  him.  He  went  out  of 
his  room,  accompanied  by  the  gaoler  ;  he  was 
going  to  the  examination.  It  was  Melchiorre 
Gioja.* 

*  Melchiorre  Gioja,  born  at  i'lacentia,  a  distinguished 
writer,  particularly  on  subjects  of  |)olitical  economy.  In 
consequence  of  suspicions  of  illegal  correspondence,  he  was 
imprisoned  in  1820  for  nine  months.  His  principal  works 
are,  jViwro  Pros/jrtto  dflle  Sricnze  Economirlie,  (A  New  View 
of  the    Economical  Sciences),    TraUato   del  Mcriio   c   ddlc 


32  MY    PRISONS. 

My  heart  was  oppressed.  "  Thou,  too,  emi- 
nent man,  art  thou  here  !  "  (He  was  more  for- 
tunate than  myself.  After  some  months'  deten- 
tion   he  was  set  at  liberty.) 

The  sight  of  any  good  being  consoles  me,  it 
excites  my  affections,  it  makes  me  think.  Ah  ! 
to  think,  and  to  love,  are  great  blessings  I  I 
would  have  given  my  life  to  save  Gioja  from 
prison  ;  yet  to  see  him  was  a  comfort  to  me. 

After  having  watched  him  for  a  long  time, 
conjecturing  from  his  motions  whether  his  mind 
were  tranquil  or  disturbed,  and  forming  wishes 
for  his  welfare,  I  felt  greater  strength,  greater 
abundance  of  ideas,  greater  satisfaction  with  my- 
self. This  shows,  that  the  sight  of  a  human 
being  whom  we  love,  is  sufficient  to  mitigate  the 
pains  of  solitude.     A   poor  little  dumb  boy  had 

Ricompense  (A  treatise  upon  Merit  and  Rewards),  Delle  In- 
giurie  e  dci  Danni  (Of  Injuries  and  Damages),  Filosofia  della 
Statistica  (The  Philosophy  of  Statistics),  Ideologia  e  Escrcizio 
Logico  (Ideology  and  the  Art  of  Logic),  Delle  Manifatture 
(Of  Manufactures),  Del  Divorzio  (Of  Divorce),  Elementi  di 
Filosofia  (Elements  of  Philosophy),  Kuovo  Galatea  (New 
Galateo),  (^iial  Governo  conrcnga  aW Italia?  (What  govern- 
ment is  suitable  for  Italy  ?) 
He  died  in  January,  1829. 


MY    PRISONS.  33 

first  procured  me  this  benefit,  and  I  was  now 
indebted  for  it  to  the  distant  sight  of  a  man  of 
great  merit. 

Perhaps  some  secondmo  told  him  where  I 
was.  One  morning,  upon  opening  his  window, 
he  waved  his  handkerchief  as  a  salutation.  I 
answered  him  by  the  same  sign.  Oh  !  Avhat 
pleasure  flowed  in  upon  my  soul  at  that  mo- 
ment !  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  distance  had 
vanished,  as  if  we  were  together.  My  heart 
beat  like  a  lover's,  when  he  sees  his  mistress. 
We  made  gestures  without  understanding  each 
other,  and  with  the  same  earnestness  as  if  we 
had  ;  I  may  rather  say,  we  really  did  under- 
stand each  other  ;  those  gestures  meant  all  that 
our  souls  felt,  and  the  one  was  not  ignorant  of 
the   other's  emotions. 

What   a  comfort   I   thought  those   salutations 

would  be  in   future  !     And  the  future  came,  but 

they  were  never  repeated  !     Every  time  tliat  I 

afterwards  saw  Gioja  at  the    window,   I   waved 

my  handkerchief     In  vain  !     The  secondino  told 

me,  that  he  had  been  prohibited  from  exciting 

me  to   make  signs,  and  from  replying  to  them. 

Still,    however,    I    often    looked    at    him  and    he 

looked  at  me,  and  thus  we  said  many  things  to 

each  other. 

3 


34  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

Upon  the  gallery  that  was  under  my  window, 
on  the  same  level  with  my  cell,  other  prisoners, 
attended  by  seconcUni,  passed  and  repassed  from 
morning  till  night,  going  to  and  returning  from 
the  examinations.  The  greater  part  belonged 
to  the  lower  classes.  I  saw  some,  however, 
who  appeared  of  better  condition.  Although 
they  passed  so  quickly,  that  I  could  not  fix  my 
eyes  upon  them  long,  yet  they  attracted  my  at- 
tention, and  all  of  them  more  or  less  affected 
me.  This  sad  spectacle  at  first  increased  my 
sufferings  ;  but  by  degrees  I  became  accus- 
tomed to  it,  and  at  last  it  even  diminished  the 
horror  of  my  solitude. 

I  saw,  likewise,  many  women,  who  had  been 
arrested,  going  by.  From  this  gallery  there  was 
a  passage  through  an  arch  to  another  court, 
where  were  the  prisons  and  hospitals  for  fe- 
males. A  single  wall,  and  that  very  thin,  di- 
vided me  from  one  of  the  rooms  of  the  women. 
Often  these  poor  creatures  almost  stunned  me 
with  their  songs,  sometimes  with  their  quarrels. 


MY    PRISONS.  35 

Late  in  the  evening,  when  all  was  still,  I  heard 
them  talk. 

If  I  had  wished  to  join  in  their  conversation, 
I  could  have  done  it.  But  I  abstained,  I  know 
not  why.  Was  it  through  timidity  .''  or  pride  ? 
or  through  a  prudent  care  not  to  attach  my- 
self to  degraded  women  .''  It  must  have  been 
from  all  these  motives.  Woman,  when  she  is 
what  she  should  be,  is  in  my  eyes  a  being  so 
sublime  !  —  to  see  her,  to  hear  her,  to  speak  to 
her,  enriches  my  mind  with  noble  images.  But 
if  she  be  debased  and  contemptible,  she  disturbs 
and  afflicts  me,  she  banishes  all  poetry  from  my 
heart. 

But .  .  .  (but  is  indispensable  in  describing  hu- 
man nature,  so  mixed  as  it  is,)  some  of  those  fe- 
male voices  were  sweet,  and  those,  —  why  should 
I  not  say  it  ?  —  were  dear  to  me.  And  one  was 
more  sweet  than  the  others,  was  heard  less  fre- 
quently, and  never  uttered  vulgar  thoughts.  She 
sung  little,  and  for  the  most  part  only  these  two 
pathetic  lines  : 

"  Chi  rcndc  alia  mcscliina 
La  sua  felicity  ?  "  * 

*  "  Who  will  restore  to  the  wretched  her  happiness .''  " 


36  MY    PRISONS. 

Sometimes  she  sang  the  Litany.  Her  com- 
panions accompanied  her  ;  but  I  had  the  power 
of  distinguishing  the  voice  of  Maddalena  from 
those  of  the  others,  though  they  seemed  deter- 
mined to  prevent  me  from  hearing  it. 

Yes,  that  unfortunate  being  was  named  Mad- 
dalena. When  her  companions  related  their 
troubles,  she  pitied  them,  and  sighed,  and  said  : 
"  Take  courage,  my  dear  ;  the  Lord  never  for- 
sakes any  one." 

What  could  prevent  me  from  imagining  that 
she  was  beautiful,  and  more  unfortunate  than 
culpable,  born  for  virtue,  and  capable  of  return- 
ing to  it,  if  she  had  swerved  from  it  ?  Who 
could  blame  me,  if  I  were  affected  by  the  sound 
of  her  voice,  if  I  listened  to  her  with  respectful 
interest,  if  I  prayed  for  her  with  peculiar  fer- 
vor ? 

Innocence  is  to  be  honored  ;  but  how  much 
is  repentance  to  be  honored  also  !  Did  the  best 
of  men,  the  God-man,  disdain  to  cast  his  com- 
passionate looks  upon  sinful  women,  to  regard 
their  confusion,  and  to  associate  them  with  the 
souls  whom  he  most  honored  ?  Why,  then, 
should  we  so  much  despise  a  woman  who  has 
fallen  into  ignominy  } 


MY    PRISONS.  37 

Reasoning  thus,  I  was  a  hundred  times  tempt- 
ed to  raise  my  voice,  and  make  a  declaration 
of  fraternal  love  to  Maddalena.  Once  I  began 
the  first  syllable  of  her  name  ;  "  Mad  ! .  .  .  " 
Strange  !  my  heart  beat,  as  if  I  were  a  boy 
of  fifteen  in  love  ;  and  yet  I  was  thirty-one, 
which  is  no  longer  the  age  of  childish  palpita- 
tions. 

I  could  go  no  further.  I  began  again  : 
"Mad  !  .  .  .  Mad  !  "...  but  it  was  useless.  I 
thought  myself  ridiculous,  and  exclaimed  an- 
grily,  '^Matto  !*  and  not  Mad  !  " 

*  Insane. 


38  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

Thus  ended  my  romance  with  this  poor  wo- 
man, except  that  I  was  indebted  to  her  for  very 
pleasing  emotions  for  several  weeks.  I  was 
often  melancholy,  and  her  voice  cheered  me  : 
often,  when  I  thought  of  the  vileness  and  ingrati- 
tude of  men,  I  was  exasperated  against  them, 
I  hated  the  whole  world,  and  the  voice  of  Mad- 
dalena  served  to  bring  me  back  to  compassion 
and  indulgence. 

"  Mayst  thou,  O  unknown  sinner,  not  have 
been  condemned  to  a  heavy  punishment  !  Or,  to 
whatever  punishment  thou  hast  been  condemned, 
mayst  thou  profit  by  it,  to  recover  thy  worth, 
and  live  and  die  dear  to  the  Lord  !  Mayst  thou 
be  compassionated  and  respected  by  all  who 
know  thee,  as  thou  hast  been  by  me,  who  know 
thee  not  !  Mayst  thou  inspire,  in  every  one  who 
sees  thee,  patience,  gentleness,  the  desire  of 
virtue,  and  trust  in  God,  as  thou  hast  in  him 
who  loves  thee,  without  having  seen  thee  !  My 
fancy  may  err,  when  it  paints  thee  beautiful  in 
person,  but  I   cannot  doubt  the    beauty   of  thy 


MY    PRISONS.  39 

soul.  Thy  companions  spoke  with  coarseness, 
thou  with  modesty  and  courtesy  ;  they  blasphem- 
ed, and  thou  didst  bless  God  ;  they  quarrelled, 
and  thou  wert  the  composer  of  their  strife.  If 
any  one  has  taken  thee  by  the  hand,  to  with- 
draw thee  from  the  career  of  dishonor  ;  if  he 
has  conferred  benefits  on  thee  with  delicacy  ;  if 
he  has  dried  thy  tears,  may  all  blessings  be 
showered  upon  him,  upon  his  children,  and  upon 
his  children's  children  !  " 

Contiguous  to  mine,  was  a  cell  inhabited  by 
several  men.  I  heard  their  voices  also.  One  of 
them  had  authority  over  the  others,  not  perhaps 
from  any  superiority  of  condition,  but  through 
greater  fluency  and  boldness.  He  played,  as  we 
say,  the  school-master.  He  battled  with  those 
who  opposed  him,  and  put  them  to  silence  by 
his  imperious  tones  and  his  violent  language  ; 
he  told  them  what  they  must  think  and  feel, 
and,  after  some  resistance,  they  ended  by  yield- 
ing to  him  in  every  thing. 

Unha[)py  men  !  not  one  of  them  softened  the 
horrors  of  prison  by  expressing  any  gentle  sen- 
timent whatever  ;  any  sentiment  of  religion  or 
of  love  ! 


40  MY    PRISONS. 

The  leader  of  these  neighbours  of  mine  sa- 
luted me,  and  I  answered  him.  He  asked  me 
how  I  passed  this  cursed  life.  I  told  him,  that, 
although  sad,  no  life  was  a  cursed  one  to  me, 
and  that,  even  till  death,  we  should  endeavour 
to   enjoy   the   pleasures   of  thinking   and   loving. 

"Explain  yourself,  Signore,  explain  yourself." 

I  did  explain,  and  was  not  understood.  And 
when,  after  some  ingenious  preparatory  circum- 
locution, I  had  the  courage  to  allude,  by  way 
of  example,  to  the  tenderness  which  Maddalena's 
voice  awakened  in  me,  the  leader  burst  into  a 
shout  of  laughter. 

"What  is  it  ?  What  is  it  ?  "  cried  his  com- 
panions. The  scoffer  repeated  and  burlesqued 
my  words  5  their  laughter  broke  forth  in  full 
chorus,  and  I  appeared  to  them   an  arrant   fool. 

It  happens  in  prison  as  in  the  world.  Those 
who  consider  it  wise  to  be  angry,  and  to  com- 
plain, and  to  despise  others,  think  it  folly  to  be 
compassionate,  to  love,  and  to  console  one's  self 
with  agreeable  images,  which  honor  humanity 
and  its  Author. 


MY    PRISONS.  41 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

I  SUFFERED  them  to  laugh,  and  did  not  utter  a 
syllable.  My  neighbours  addressed  themselves 
to  me  two  or  three  times  ;  but  I  remained  si- 
lent. 

"  He  will  be  no  more  at  the  window  ;  —  he 
has  gone  off ;  —  he  will  lend  his  ear  to  the 
sighs  of  Maddalena  ;  —  he  is  offended  by  our 
laughter." 

Thus  they  went  on  talking  for  a  little  while ; 
till,  at  last,  the  leader  imposed  silence  upon 
the  rest,  who  were  amusing  themselves  at  my 
expense. 

"  Be  silent,  brutes  ;  you  do  not  know  what  you 
are  saying.  Our  neighbour  is  not  such  an  ass 
as  you  take  him  to  be.  You  are  not  capable 
of  reflecting  upon  any  thing.  I  laugh,  l)ut  then 
I  reflect.  All  brutal  villains  know  how  to  play 
the  bravo,  as  we  do.  A  little  more  gentle  cheer- 
fulness, a  little  more  charity,  a  little  more  faith 
in  the  goodness  of  Heaven,  —  what  do  you  sin- 
cerely  think  this  would  be  a  proof  of.'  " 

"  Now  that  I   also  reflect,"  replied  one,  "  it 


42  MYPRISONS. 

seems  to  me  a  proof  of  being  somewhat  less  of 
a  brute." 

"Bravo  !  "  exclaimed  the  leader  with  a  Sten- 
torian shout  ;  "  this  time  I  begin  to  have  some 
respect  for  your  noddle." 

I  was  not  very  proud  of  being  reputed  only 
someichat  less  of  a  brute  than  themselves  ;  but 
I  experienced  a  degree  of  pleasure,  that  those 
unhappy  men  had  changed  their  minds  with  re- 
gard to  the  importance  of  cultivating  benevolent 
sentiments. 

I  moved  the  window-frame  as  if  I  had  just  re- 
turned to  it.  The  captain  called  to  me.  I  an- 
swered, hoping  that  he  had  a  desire  to  moralize 
after  my  fashion.  I  was  deceived.  Vulgar  minds 
avoid  serious  reasoning  ;  if  a  noble  truth  shines 
upon  them,  they  are  capable  of  applauding  it 
for  an  instant,  but  their  attention  is  quickly  turn- 
ed from  it,  and  they  cannot  resist  the  desire  of 
making  a  display  of  their  sagacity  by  casting 
doubt  and  scorn  upon  it. 

He  afterwards    asked  me  if  I   was   in   prison 
for   debt. 

"No." 

"  Perhaps  accused  of  knavery  ?  I  mean  falsely 
accused,  you  know." 


MY    PRISONS.  43 

"lam  accused  of  something  quite  different." 

"  A  love  affair  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Of  murder  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Of  being  a  carhonaro  .^  " 

"Just  so." 

"  And  what  are  those  carbonari  ?  " 

"  I  know  so  little  of  them,  I  cannot  tell  you." 

A  secondino  interrupted  us  very  angrily  ;  and, 
after  having  loaded  my  neighbour  with  reproach- 
es, he  turned  to  me  with  the  gravity,  not  of  a 
shirro,  but  of  a  master,  and  said,  — "  Shame, 
Signore  !  for  you  to  condescend  to  talk  with  all 
sorts  of  people  !  Do  you  know,  that  those  men 
are  thieves  ^  " 

I  blushed,  and  then  blushed  for  having  blush- 
ed ;  and  it  seemed  to  me,  that  to  condescend  to 
talk  with  every  class  of  unhappy  men  was  rather 
an  act  of  goodness,  than  a  fault. 


44  MY    PRISONS 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

The  next  morning  I  went  to  the  window,  to 
see  Melchiorre  Gioja,  but  I  conversed  no  more 
with  the  thieves.  I  replied  to  their  salutation, 
and  said  that  I  had  been  forbidden  to  speak  to 
them. 

The  notary  who  had  examined  me  came,  and 
announced,  with  an  air  of  mystery,  a  visit  which 
would  give  me  pleasure  ;  and  when  he  thought 
he  had  sufficiently  prepared  me  for  it,  he  said, 
"  In  short,  it  is  your  father  ;  follow  me,  if  you 
please." 

I  followed  him  below  into  the  public  offices, 
agitated  with  pleasure  and  with  tenderness,  and 
forcing  myself  to  appear  with  a  serene  aspect, 
which  might  tranquillize  my  poor  father. 

When  he  heard  of  my  arrest,  he  hoped  that 
it  was  upon  some  unfounded  suspicion,  and  that 
I  should  soon  be  released.  But  finding  that  my 
detention  continued,  he  had  come  to  solicit  my 
liberation  of  the  Austrian  government.  Sad  il- 
lusion of  paternal  love  !  He  could  not  believe 
that  I  had  been  so  rash,  as  to  expose  myself  to 


MYPRISONS.  45 

the  rigor  of  the  laws  ;  and  the  studied  cheer- 
fulness, with  which  I  spoke  to  him,  persuaded 
him  that  I  had  no  misfortune  to  apprehend. 

The  short  interview  that  was  allowed  us,  agi- 
tated me  indescribably  ;  the  more,  as  I  suppress- 
ed every  appearance  of  agitation.  It  was  most 
difficult  to  conceal  it,  when  it  was  necessary  for 
us  to  separate. 

In  the  circumstances  in  which  Italy  then  was, 
I  felt  certain  that  Austria  would  give  some  ex- 
traordinary examples  of  rigor,  and  that  I  should 
be  condemned  to  death,  or  to  many  years  of 
imprisonment.  To  hide  this  belief  from  a  fa- 
ther !  to  flatter  him  with  the  hope  of  my  speedy 
liberation  !  to  restrain  my  tears,  when  I  em- 
braced him,  when  I  spoke  to  him  of  my  mother, 
of  my  brothers  and  my  sisters,  whom  I  thought 
never  to  behold  again  upon  earth  !  to  beg  him, 
with  an  unfaltering  voice,  to  come  and  see  me 
again,  if  he  were  able  !  Nothing  ever  cost  me 
so  much   effort. 

He  went  away  greatly  comforted,  and  I  re- 
turned to  my  cell  with  a  tortured  heart.  As 
soon  as  I  was  alone,  I  hoped  to  find  relief  by 
abandoning  myself  to  weeping.  This  solace 
failed.      I   broke   out    into   sobs,    and  could   not 


46  MY    PRISONS, 

shed  a  tear.  It  is  a  cruel  misfortune  to  be  un- 
able to  weep  in  severe  distress  ;  and  oh  !  how 
many  times  have  I  experienced  it  ! 

A  burning  fever  attacked  me,  accompanied 
by  a  violent  headache,  I  swallowed  not  even 
a  spoonful  of  soup  the  whole  day,  "  Would 
this  were  a  mortal  illness,"  said  I,  "  that  would 
shorten  my  sufferings  !  " 

Foolish  and  cowardly  wish  !  God  did  not 
grant  it,  and  now  I  thank  him  that  he  did  not, 
I  thank  him,  not  only  because,  after  ten  years 
of  imprisonment,  I  have  again  seen  my  dear 
family,  and  may  call  myself  happy  ;  but  also 
because  man  gains  strength  through  his  suf- 
ferings, and  I  hope  mine  have  not  been  useless 
to  me. 


M  Y    P  R  I  S  O  N  S  .  47 


CHAPTER    XV. 

T^vo  days  afterwards  my  father  returned.  I 
had  slept  well  during  the  night,  and  was  free 
from  fever.  I  resumed  my  easy  and  cheerful 
deportment  ;  and  no  one  suspected  what  my  heart 
had   suffered,  and  was  yet  to  suffer. 

"I  trust,"  said  my  father,  "that  in  a  few 
days  you  will  be  sent  to  Turin,  We  have  al- 
ready prepared  your  room,  and  shall  expect  you 
with  great  anxiety.  My  official  duties  oblige 
me  to  return.  Endeavour,  I  pray  you,  to  join 
me  soon," 

My  heart  was  torn  by  his  tender  and  melan- 
choly expressions  of  affection.  It  seemed  to 
me,  that  filial  piety  required  dissimulation,  yet 
I  dissembled  with  a  kind  of  remorse.  Would 
it  not  have  been  more  worthy  of  my  father  and 
of  myself,  if  I  had  said  to  him  ;  "  Probably 
we  shall  see  each  other  no  more  in  this  world  ! 
Let  us  part  like  men,  without  murmuring,  with- 
out tears  ;  and  lot  me  hear  a  father's  blessing 
pronounced   upon  my  head  !  " 

This  language  would  have  been  a  thousand 
times  more  agreeable  to  me  than  disguise.     liut 


48  MY    PRISONS. 

I  looked  upon  the  eyes  of  that  venerable  old 
man,  his  features,  and  his  grey  hairs,  and  he  did 
not  appear  to  me  to  have  the  strength  to  hear 
me  speak  thus. 

And  what  if,  through  my  unwillingness  to  de- 
ceive him,  I  had  seen  him  abandon  himself  to 
despair,  perhaps  fall  into  a  swoon,  perhaps  (hor- 
rible idea  !)  be  struck  with  death  in  my   arms  ! 

I  could  neither  tell  him  the  truth,  nor  suffer 
him  to  perceive  it.  My  assumed  tranquillity  en- 
tirely deluded  him.  We  parted  without  tears. 
But  when  I  returned  to  my  cell,  I  was  tortured 
,  as  before,  if  not  more  severely  ;  and  still  in 
vain  did  I  pray  for  power  to  weep. 

To  resign  myself  to  all  the  horrors  of  a  long 
imprisonment,  to  resign  myself  to  a  public  ex- 
ecution, was  within  my  power  ;  but  to  be  re- 
signed to  the  thought  of  the  overwhelming  grief 
which  my  father,  mother,  brothers,  and  sisters 
would  feel,  my  strength  was  not  equal  to  it. 

I  prostrated  myself  upon  the  ground,  and,  with 
a  fervor  which  I  had  never  felt  before,  uttered 
this  prayer  : 

''  My  God,  I  accept  all  things  from  thy  hand  ; 
but  so  marvellously  strengthen  the  hearts  of  those 
to  whom  I  was  necessary,  that  I  may  cease  to  be 
so  to  them  ;   and  suffer  not  the  life  of  any  one 


MYPRISONS.  49 

of  them  to  be  shortened  for  a   day    on   my    ac- 
count." 

Oh  !  the  blessing  of  prayer  !  I  remamed 
many  hours  with  my  mind  raised  to  God.  My 
faith  increased  in  proportion  as  I  meditated  up- 
on the  divine  goodness,  and  upon  the  greatness 
of  the  human  soul,  when  it  puts  off  its  selfish- 
ness, and  strives  to  have  no  other  will  but  the 
will  of  Infinite  Wisdom. 

Yes,  this  is  possible  !  this  is  the  duty  of  man  ! 
Reason,  which  is  the  voice  of  God,  teaches  us, 
that  all  else  must  be  sacrificed  to  virtue.  And 
would  the  sacrifice  which  we  owe  to  virtue  be 
complete,  if,  in  the  most  trying  situations,  we 
should  struggle  against  the  will  of  Him,  who  is 
the  source  of  all  virtue  ? 

When  the  gibbet,  or  any  other  cruel  death, 
is  inevitable,  to  regard  it  with  cowardly  fear, 
to  be  unable  to  meet  even  this,  blessing  the 
Lord,  is  a  sign  of  miserable  degradation  or  ig- 
norance. And  it  is  not  only  necessary  to  be 
resigned  to  one's  own  death,  but  to  the  affliction 
which  those  who  are  dear  to  us  may  experience 
from  it.  We  arc  permitted  only  to  ask  of  God, 
that  he  would  temper  their  sufferings,  and  give 
strength  to  us  all.  Such  a  prayer  is  ever  heard. 
4 


50  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

Some  days  passed,  and  I  remained  in  the 
same  state,  that  is,  in  a  sweet  sadness,  full  of 
peace  and  of  religious  thoughts.  I  seemed  to 
have  triumphed  over  every  weakness,  and  to  be 
no  more  accessible  to  any  disquietude.  Foolish 
illusion  !  Man  should  strive  for  perfect  con- 
stancy, but  he  never  attains  it  upon  earth. 
What  disturbed  me  ?  The  sight  of  an  unhappy 
friend,  the  sight  of  my  good  Piero,  who  passed 
along  the  gallery  only  a  few  steps  from  me, 
while  I  was  at  the  window.  He  had  been  ta- 
ken from  his  room  to  be  carried  to  the  criminal 
cells. 

He,  and  those  who  accompanied  him,  passed 
so  quickly,  that  I  had  scarcely  time  to  recog- 
nise him,  and  to  exchange  one  sign  of  saluta- 
tion. 

Unhappy  young  man  !  in  the  flower  of  his 
age,  with  talents  of  splendid  promise,  with  an 
upright,  refined,  and  most  affectionate  charac- 
ter, formed  for  the  highest  enjoyment  of  life,  he 
had  been  thrown  into  prison  for  political  causes, 


MY    PRISONS.  61 

at  a  time  when  it  was  certain  he  could  not  avoid 
the  severest  sentence  of  the  laws. 

I  felt  such  compassion  for  him,  such  grief  that 
I  could  not  deliver  him,  that  I  could  not  at  least 
comfort  him  with  my  presence  and  with  my 
words,  that  nothing  availed  to  restore  me  to 
any  degree  of  calmness.  I  knew  how  much  he 
loved  his  mother,  his  brother,  his  sisters,  his 
brother-in-law,  and  his  nephews  ;  how  much  he 
longed  to  contribute  to  their  happiness,  and  how 
much  he  was  beloved  in  return  by  all  those  dear 
objects  of  his  affection.  I  felt  what  must  be  the 
affliction  of  every  one  of  them  at  such  a  ca- 
lamity. There  are  no  words  to  express  the 
phrensy,  which  then  seized  me  ;  and  this  phren- 
sy  continued  so  long,  that  I  despaired  of  ever 
becoming  tranquil. 

Yet  this  fear  too  was  an  illusion.  Oh  !  you 
who  are  afflicted,  who  believe  yourselves  to  be 
the  victims  of  some  inevitable,  horrid,  ever- 
increasing  wretchedness,  have  patience  for  a 
little  while,  and  you  will  be  undeceived  !  Nei- 
ther perfect  peace,  nor  extreme  distress,  can 
long  endure  here  below.  We  should  be  per- 
suaded of  this  truth,  that  we  may  not  be  lifted 
up  in  the  hours  of  happiness,  nor  cast  down  in 
those  of  trouble. 


52  MY    PRISONS. 

Weariness  and  apathy  succeeded  to  this  long- 
continued  excitement.  But  not  even  apathy  is 
lasting,  and  I  feared  I  should  from  this  time  al- 
ternate without  respite  between  this  and  the  op- 
posite extreme.  I  was  terrified  at  the  prospect 
of  such  a  future,  and  again  had  recourse  to 
earnest  prayer. 

I  asked  God  to  give  strength  to  my  unhappy 
friend  Piero  as  well  as  to  myself,  and  to  his 
family  as  well  as  to  my  own.  It  was  only  by 
repeating  these  supplications,  that  I  was  able 
truly   to  tranquillize  myself. 


J 


MY    PRISONS.  53 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

But  when  my  spirit  was  calmed,  I  reflected 
upon  the  excessive  agitation  I  had  suffered  ;  and, 
angry  with  myself  for  my  weakness,  I  studied 
how  it  might  be  prevented.  To  attain  this  end, 
I  availed  myself  of  the  following  expedient. 
Every  morning,  after  a  short  homage  to  the 
Creator,  my  first  occupation  was  to  make  a 
diligent  and  coui'ageous  review  of  every  possi- 
ble event,  likely  to  affect  me  deeply.  Upon 
each  one  I  steadily  fixed  my  imagination,  and 
prepared  myself  for  it.  I  imagined  every  thing  ; 
—  from  the  visits  of  dear  friends,  to  the  visit  of 
the  executioner.  This  sad  exercise  seemed  for 
some  days  insupportable  ;  but  I  resolved  to 
persevere,  and  in  a  short  time  it  gave  me  sat- 
isfaction. 

On    New- Year's    day,     1821,    Count    Luigi 
Porro*  obtained  permission   to   visit   me.      The 

*  Count  Luigi  Porro  was  one  of  tlie  most  eminent  indi- 
viduals in  Milan.  He  was  distinguished  by  the  zeal  and 
liberality,  with  which  he  promoted  literature  and  tlie  arts. 


54  31  Y    PRISONS. 

tender  and  warm  friendship  which  subsisted 
between  us,  the  many  things  we  had  to  say, 
the  restraint  imposed  upon  our  conversation  by 
the  presence  of  a  notary,  the  too  short  time 
we  were  allowed  to  be  together,  the  mournful 
presentiments  which  distressed  me,  the  efforts 
which  we  both  made  to  appear  tranquil,  all  this 
I  thought  must  throw  me  into  the  most  terrible 
agitation.  But  when  separated  from  that  dear 
friend,    I   felt   calm  ;    affected,  but   calm. 

So  much  may  be  gained,  by  fortifying   one's 
self  against  strong  emotions. 

My  resolution  of  acquiring  a  constant  calm- 
ness did  not  arise  so  much  from  a  desire  of 
lessening  my  unhappiness,  as  from  a  conviction 
that  agitation  of  mind  is  base  and  unworthy 
of  man.  An  agitated  mind  loses  the  power  of 
judging    correctly  ;    involved   in    an    irresistible 

Having  early  discovered  the  good  dispositions  of  young 
Pellico,  he  received  him  into  his  house,  as  the  tutor  of 
liis  sons ;  but  always  considered  lilm  rather  as  his  intimate 
friend,  than  as  a  dependent.  Count  Porro  fell  under  the 
suspicion  of  the  Austrian  government.  He  took  refuge  in 
a  foreign  country  (at  Marseilles),  and  was  twice  condemned 
to  death,  on  the  ground  of  contumacy,  first  as  a  carhonaro, 
afterwards  as  a  conspirator. 


MY    PRISONS.  55 

whirl  of  exaggerated  ideas,  it  reasons  foolishly, 
wildly,  and  malignantly  ;  it  is  in  a  state  wholly 
antiphilosophical  and  antichristian. 

Were  I  a  preacher,  I  should  often  insist  on 
the  necessity  of  banishing  agitation  ;  we  can  be 
good  upon  no  other  terms.  How  entirely  at 
peace  with  himself  and  with  others  was  He, 
whom  we  should  all  imitate.  There  is  no  great- 
ness of  mind,  there  is  no  justice,  without  well- 
governed  thoughts,  without  a  disposition  tending 
rather  to  smile,  than  to  be  irritated,  at  the  events 
of  this  short  life.  Anger  is  of  no  use,  except 
in  those  very  rare  cases,  when  we  may  hope 
by  its  means  to  humble  an  evil-doer,  and  to 
withdraw  him  from  iniquity. 

Perhaps  there  may  be  disordered  states  of 
mind  different  from  those  I  have  known,  and 
less  to  be  condemned.  But  that,  which  till  then 
had  made  me  its  slave,  did  not  proceed  from 
affliction  alone.  It  was  always  mingled  with 
much  hatred,  a  great  desire  to  speak  evil,  and 
to  represent  society  or  some  individual  in  the 
most  execrable  colors.  It  is  the  epidemic  dis- 
ease of  the  world.  Men  rise  in  their  own  es- 
timation by  abhorring  others.  All  friends  seem 
to  say  in  each  other's  ears  :   "  Let  us  love  on- 


56  MY    PRISONS. 

ly  one  another.  By  proclaiming  that  all  beside 
are  a  mob  of  rascals,  we  shall  appear  like  demi- 
gods." 

What  a  curious  fact,  that  to  live  in  the  in- 
dulgence of  angry  passion  is  so  agreeable  !  It 
is  thought  a  species  of  heroism.  If  the  per- 
son against  whom  we  raved  yesterday  is  dead, 
immediate  search  is  made  for  another.  "  Of 
whom  shall  I  complain  to-day  ?  Whom  shall  I 
hate  ?  Shall  he  be  the  monster  .''  Oh  !  joy  !  I 
have  found  him.  Come,  my  friends,  let  us  tear 
him  to  pieces  !  " 

So  goes  the  world ;  and  without  slandering  it, 
I  may  well  say,  that  it  goes  ill. 


JIYPRISONS.  51 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

There  was  not  much  malignity  in  complain- 
ing of  the  horrors  of  the  room  in  which  I  had 
been  placed.  By  good  fortune  a  better  one  stood 
vacant,  and  I  was  agreeably  surprised  by  hav- 
ing it  given  to  me. 

Ought  I  not  to  have  been  highly  gratified 
with  this  intelligence  ?  But  so  it  is,  I  could 
not  think  of  Maddalena  Avithout  regret.  What 
childishness  !  to  be  always  attaching  myself  to 
something,  and  that  too,  without  very  strong 
reasons  !  As  I  was  leaving  that  miserable  room, 
I  looked  back  towards  the  wall,  on  which  I  had 
so  often  leaned,  while,  scarcely  a  hand's  breadth 
distant,  the  unhappy  sinner  was  resting  on  the 
other  side.  I  could  have  wished  to  hear  once 
more  those  two  pathetic  lines  : 

"  Chi  rende  alia  mcscliina 
La  sua  feliciti  ?  " 

Vain  regret  !  Here  was  another  separation  in 
my  unfortunate  life  !  I  will  not  dwell  upon  it, 
that  I  may  not  be  laughed  at  ;   ])ut  it  would  bo 


58  MY    PRISONS. 

hypocrisy   not    to    confess   that    I    was    sad   on 
this  account  for  many  days. 

As  I  was  going  away,  I  saluted  two  of  the 
poor  thieves,  my  neighbours,  who  were  at  the 
window.  Their  captain  was  not  there  5  but,  be- 
ing informed  by  his  companions,  he  appeared 
also,  and  saluted  me  in  return.  He  then  began 
to  hum  the  air,  "  Chi  rende  alia  meschina."  Did 
he  mean  to  ridicule  me  ?  I  will  venture  to  say, 
that  if  fifty  persons  were  asked  this  question, 
forty-nine  would  answer,  "Yes."  But  notwith- 
standing such  a  majority  of  voices,  I  incline  to 
believe  that  the  good  thief  meant  to  offer  me  a 
civility.  I  received  it  as  such,  was  grateful  to 
him  for  it,  and  gave  him  another  glance  5  and 
he,  extending  his  arms  beyond  the  iron  bars 
with  his  cap  in  his  hand,  made  another  signal 
to  me,  just  as  I  turned  to  descend  the  stairs. 

When  I  was  in  the  court,  I  had  one  conso- 
lation. The  little  deaf  and  dumb  boy  was  un- 
der the  portico  ;  he  saw  me,  recognised  me, 
and  would  have  run  to  meet  me.  The  wife  of 
the  gaoler,  —  who  knows  why  ?  —  caught  him 
by  the  collar,  and  drove  him  into  the  house. 
I  was  sorry  that  I  could  not  embrace  him ;  but 
his  springing  forward  to  run  to  me,  gave  me  a 


MY    PRISONS.  59 

delightful   emotion.      So   sweet  a  thing   is   it  to 
be  loved  ! 

This  was  a  day  of  great  adventures.  A  few 
steps  further  on,  I  came  near  the  window  of 
my  former  room,  which  Gioja  now  occupied. 
"  Good  day,  Melchiorre  !  "  said  I,  as  I  passed. 
He  raised  his  head,  and  darting  towards  me, 
cried  out,  "  Good  day,  Silvio  !  " 

Alas  !  I  was  not  permitted  to  stop  one  mo- 
ment. I  turned  under  the  great  gate,  ascended 
a  staircase,  and  was  placed  in  a  clean  cell 
over  that  of  Gioja. 

A  bed  having  been  brought,  and  I  being  left 
alone  by  the  secondini,  my  first  business  was  to 
examine  the  walls.  There  were  several  memo- 
rials written  upon  them,  some  with  a  pencil, 
others  with  coal,  and  others  with  some  pointed 
instrument.  I  found  two  pleasing  French  stan- 
zas, which  I  now  regret  that  I  did  not  commit 
to  memory.  They  were  signed,  "  The  Duke  of 
Normandy."  I  undertook  to  sing  them,  adapt- 
ing them  as  well  as  I  could  to  the  air  of  my 
poor  Maddalena,  and  was  surprised  to  hear  some 
one  very  near  sing  them  to  another  air.  When 
he  had  finished,  I  exclaimed,  "  Bravo  !  "  and  he 


60  MYPRISONS. 

greeted    me    politely,   asking   me   if    I   were    a 
Frenchman. 

"  No  ;    I    am   an   Italian,   and   my   name    is 
Silvio  Pellico." 

"  The  author  of  Franccsca  da  Rimini  ?  " 

"The  same." 

And  then  followed  a  polite  compliment,  and 
the  natural  condolences,  upon  learning  that  I 
was  in  prison. 

He  asked  me  of  what  pai't  of  Italy  I  was  a 
native. 

"  Of  Piedmont,"  said  I.  "I  was  born  in  Sa- 
luzzo." 

Here  followed  another  polite  compliment  up- 
on the  character  and  genius  of  the  Piedmontese  ; 
and  he  particularly  mentioned  the  great  men  of 
Saluzzo,  especially  Bodoni.* 

These  few  words  of  praise  were  happily  ex- 
pressed, as  by  a  person  of  good  education. 

*  The  Cavalier  Giovanni  Bodoni  was  one  of  the  most 
celebrated  of  modern  printers.  He  was  instructed  in  his 
art,  and  in  the  Oriental  languages,  at  the  College  of  the 
Propaganda  at  Rome.  He  went  thence  to  the  royal 
printing-house  at  Parma,  and  had  the  direction  of  it  until 
the  year   1813,  when   he   died. 


flIY    PRISONS.  61 

"Now,  Signore,"  said  I,  "may  I  be  permit- 
ted to  ask  who  you  are  ?  " 

"You  have  sung  one  of  my  little  songs." 

"Are  those  two  beautiful  stanzas,  which  are 
upon  the  Avail,  yours  t  " 

"Yes,  Signore." 

"You  are  then  ..." 

"The  unhappy  Duke  of  Normandy." 


62  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

The  guard  passed  under  our  windows,  and 
compelled  us  to  be  silent. 

"  What  unhappy  Duke  of  Normandy  ? "  thought 
I  within  myself.  "  Is  not  that  the  title  which 
was  given  to  the  son  of  Louis  the  Sixteenth  ? 
But  that  poor  boy  is  undoubtedly  dead. — Well, 
my  neighbour,  I  must  conclude,  is  one  of  those 
unfortunate  persons,  who  have  endeavoured  to 
bring  him  to  life  again. 

"  Heretofore  several  have  set  themselves  up 
for  Louis  the  Seventeenth,  and  have  been  dis- 
covered to  be  impostors  ;  what  greater  credit 
ought  this  man  to  obtain  ?  " 

Although  I  endeavoured  to  remain  in  doubt, 
I  felt  an  invincible  incredulity,  which  never 
was  removed  ;  nevertheless  I  determined  not 
to  mortify  the  unhappy  man,  whatever  fable  he 
might  relate  to  me. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  he  began  to  sing 
again  ;  then  we  recommenced  our  conversation. 

To  my  questions  concerning  him,  he  replied, 
that  he  really  was  Louis  the    Seventeenth,   and 


MY    PRISONS.  63 

went  on  to  declaim  strongly  against  Louis  the 
Eighteenth,  his  uncle,  the  usurper  of  his  rights. 
"  But  why  did  you  not  cause  those  rights  to 
be  acknowledged  at  the  time  of  the  Restora- 
tion r  " 

"  I   was  then  dangerously  ill   at  Bologna.     I 
had    scarcely    recovered,    when   I    hastened   to 
Paris,   and  presented  myself  to  the  Allied  Sov- 
ereigns ;    but  what   was   done,   was   done  ;    my 
wicked  uncle  would  not   acknowledge  me  ;    my 
sister  joined   with   him   to    oppress    me.      The 
good  Prince  of  Conde  alone  received  me  with 
open   arms  ;   but   his  friendship  could  avail  no- 
thing.     One   night,   in   the    streets   of  Paris,    I 
was  attacked  by  assassins  armed  with  poniards, 
and   hardly  escaped   their  blows.     After  having 
wandered  some  time  in   Normandy,  I   returned 
to  Italy,  and  fixed  myself  at  Modena.     Thence 
I  wrote  frequently  to  the  monarchs  of  Europe, 
and  particularly  to  the  Emperor  Alexander,  who 
replied  to  me  with   the   greatest    politeness,   so 
(hat  I  did  not  despair  of  finally  obtaining  just- 
ice ;  or,  if  through  political  motives  they  chose 
to  set  aside  my  rights  to  the  throne  of  France, 
that   they   would  at    least    assign   mc   a   decent 
maintenance.     But  I  was  arrested,  carried  to  the 


64  MY    PRISONS. 

frontiers  of  the  Duchy  of  Modena,  and  consign- 
ed to  the  Austrian  government.  Now,  for  eight 
months  I  have  been  buried  here,  and  God  knows 
when   I   shall  be   released." 

I  did  not  give  credit  to  all  that  he  said  ;  but 
that  he  was  buried  there  was  indeed  true,  and 
it  inspired  me  with  a  lively  feeling  of  com- 
passion. 

I  requested  him  to  give  me  a  brief  account 
of  his  life.  He  related  to  me  minutely  all  the 
particulars  which  I  already  knew  with  regard  to 
Louis  the  Seventeenth; — how  they  placed  him 
with  that  Avretch,  Simon  the  shoemaker  ;  how 
they  prevailed  upon  him  to  utter  an  infamous 
calumny  against  the  character  of  the  poor  queen 
his  mother,  £tc.  &c.  Finally,  he  said,  that, 
while  he  was  in  prison,  some  persons  came  by 
night,  to  take  him  away  ;  a  stupid  boy,  named 
Mathurin,  was  put  in  his  place  ;  and  he  was  car- 
ried off.  A  carriage  and  four  was  in  the  street  5 
one  of  the  horses  being  a  wooden  machine,  in 
which  he  was  concealed.  They  reached  the 
Rhine  in  safety,  and  passed  the  frontier.  The 
general  .  .  .  (he  told  me  his  name,  but  I  have 
forgotten  it)  who  liberated  him,  behaved  to- 
wards him  for  some  time  as  an  instructer  and  a 


MY    PRISONS.  65 

father,  and  then  either  sent  or  took  him  to  Amer- 
ica. There  the  young  king,  without  a  kingdom, 
met  with  various  adventures ;  he  suffered  hun- 
ger in  the  deserts  ;  he  became  a  soldier  ;  at 
one  time  he  hved  happily  and  in  esteem  at  the 
court  of  the  king  of  Brazil,  but  was  afterwards 
slandered,  persecuted,  and  obliged  to  fly.  He 
returned  to  Europe  about  the  time  of  Na- 
poleon's downfall  ;  was  detained  a  prisoner  at 
Naples  by  Joachim  Murat  ;  and  when  he  found 
himself  at  liberty,  and  was  on  the  point  of  claim- 
ing the  throne  of  France,  he  was  attacked  at  Bo- 
logna by  that  unfortunate  illness,  during  which 
Louis  the  Eighteenth  was   crowned. 


66  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

He  related  this  story  with  a  surprising  air  of 
truth.  I  could  not  believe  him,  but  he  excit- 
ed my  admiration.  All  the  facts  of  the  French 
i-evolution  were  quite  familiar  to  him  ;  he  spoke 
of  them  with  much  natural  eloquence,  and  re- 
lated many  curious  anecdotes  respecting  them. 
There  was  something  soldierlike  in  his  lan- 
guage, but  he  was  not  deficient  in  the  ele- 
gance which  is  acquired  by  intercourse  with 
good    society. 

"  Will  you  permit  me,"  said  I,  "  to  talk  to 
you  without  ceremony,  without  using  your  title?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  desire,"  replied  he.  "  I  have 
at  least  derived  this  advantage  from  misfortune, 
that  I  smile  at  all  vanities.  I  assure  you,  that 
I  value  myself  more  upon  being  a  man,  than 
upon  being  a  king." 

Morning  and  evening  we  held  long  conversa- 
tions together  ;  and,  in  spite  of  what  I  consid- 
ered as  acting  in  him,  he  appeared  to  me  to 
be  naturally  good,  candid,  and  desirous  of  all 
moral    excellence.       Many   times    I    was   about 


MY    PRISONS.  67 

to  say  to  him  :  "  Pardon  me,  I  wish  to  beheve 
that  you  are  Louis  the  Seventeenth,  but  I  con- 
fess to  you  sincerely  that  the  contrary  opinion 
prevails  in  my  mind  ;  have  the  frankness  to  re- 
nounce this  fiction."  And  I  ruminated  upon  a 
fine  lecture  I  would  give  him  on  the  futility  oi" 
every  falsehood,  even  those  which  seem  inno- 
cent. 

I  deferred  it  from  day  to  day  ;  I  waited  till 
we  should  become  somewhat  more  intimate  with 
each  other,  and  I  never  had  the  courage  fo 
execute  my  plan. 

When  I  reflect  upon  this  want  of  courage,  I 
.sometimes  excuse  it  as  necessary  urbanity,  an 
honest  fear  of  giving  pain,  and  I  know  not  what 
beside.  But  these  excuses  do  not  satisfy  me  ; 
and  I  cannot  but  confess,  that  I  should  be  bet- 
ter pleased  with  myself,  if  I  had  not  stifled  my 
meditated  lecture.  To  pretend  to  have  faith  in 
an  imposture  is  pusillanimity  ;  it  appears  to  me 
that  I  should  not  do  so  again. 

Yes,  it  is  pusillanimity  !  True,  in  however 
delicate  a  preamble  it  may  be  involved,  it  is  a 
harsh  thing  to  say  to  any  one,  "I  do  not  be- 
lieve you."  He  will  be  angry  ;  we  shall  lose  the 
pleasure  of  his  friendship  ;  perhaps  he  will  load 


68  MY    PRISONS, 

US  with  insults.  But  any  thing  we  may  sufTei' 
is  to  be  preferred  to  the  dishonor  of  falsehood. 
And  perhaps  the  unfortunate  man,  even  though 
he  may  load  us  with  insults,  yet,  perceiving  that 
his  imposture  is  not  credited,  will  admire  our 
sincerity  in  secret,  and  be  induced  by  it  to  make 
such  reflections,  as  will  lead  him  to  a  better 
course. 

The  secondmi  inclined  to  believe  that  he  really 
was  Louis  the  Seventeenth  ;  and,  having  before 
witnessed  so  many  changes  of  fortune,  did  not 
despair  of  his  one  day  ascending  the  throne  of 
France,  and  remembering  their  devoted  services. 
Except  in  favoring  his  escape,  they  treated  him 
with  all  the  consideration  he  desired. 

I  was  indebted  to  this  circumstance  for  the 
honor  of  seeing  this  great  personage.  He  was 
of  middling  stature,  from  foi'ty  to  forty-five  years 
old,  somewhat  corpulent,  and  of  a  true  Bourbon 
physiognomy.  It  is  probable,  that  an  accidental 
likeness  to  the  Bourbons  induced  him  to  play 
the  wretched  part  he  had  assumed. 


MY    PRISONS.  69 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

I  MUST  accuse  myself  of  another  instance  of 
unworthy  regard  to  human  opinion.  My  neigh- 
bour was  not  an  atheist  ;  he  sometimes  spoke 
of  religious  sentiments  like  a  man  who  prizes 
them,  and  is  not  a  stranger  to  them  ;  but  he 
cherished,  notwithstanding,  many  irrational  preju- 
dices against  Christianity.  He  regarded  its  true 
spirit  less  than  its  abuses.  He  had  been  daz- 
zled by  the  superficial  philosophy,  which  pre- 
ceded and  followed  the  revolution  in  France. 
It  appeared  to  him,  that  God  might  be  adored 
with  greater  purity,  than  according  to  the  re- 
ligion of  the  Gospel.  Without  having  much 
knowledge  of  Condillac  and  Tracy,  he  respect- 
ed them  as  deep  thinkers,  and  imagined  that 
the  latter  had  reached  the  limits  of  all  possible 
metaphysical  researches. 

I,  who  had  pushed  my  philosophical  studies 
further,  who  felt  the  weakness  of  the  experi- 
mental philosophy,  and  knew  the  gross  errors 
in  criticism,  by  wliicli  the  age  of  Voltaire  had 
labored  to  defame  Christianity  ;  I,  who  had  read 


70  MY    PRISONS. 

Guenee  and  those  other  writers,  who  have  so 
powerfully  confuted  that  false  criticism  ;  I,  who 
was  persuaded  that  a  consistent  reasoner  can- 
not believe  in  God  and  reject  the  Gospel  ;  I, 
who  thought  it  so  vulgar  a  thing  to  follow  the 
current  of  antichristian  opinions,  and  to  be  un- 
able to  raise  one's  self  to  the  perception  of  the 
simplicity  and  sublimity  of  Christianity,  when  not 
seen  in  caricature  ;  —  I  had  the  baseness  to 
yield  to  a  weak  regai-d  for  human  opinion.  I 
was  disconcerted  by  the  witticisms  of  my  neigh- 
bour, although  their  frivolity  did  not  escape  me. 
I  dissembled  my  belief,  hesitated,  considered 
whether  it  would  be  seasonable  or  not  to  con- 
tradict him,  said  to  myself  that  it  would  be  use- 
less, and  endeavoured  to  persuade  myself  that 
I  was  right. 

Cowardice  !  cowardice  !  What  deference  is  due 
to  the  presumptuous  confidence  with  which  popu- 
lar opinions  are  urged,  when  they  rest  on  no 
foundation  ?  It  is  true,  that  unseasonable  zeal 
is  indiscreet,  and  may  greatly  irritate  an  unbe- 
liever ;  but  to  profess  frankly,  and  at  the  same 
time  with  modesty,  what  we  firmly  hold  as  im- 
portant truth  ;  to  profess  it,  even  when  we  can- 
not expect  approval,  or  even  to  escape  without 


MY   PRISONS.  71 

scorn,  this  is  a  positive  duty  ;  and  such  a  no- 
ble confession  may  always  be  made,  without 
assuming  inappropriately  the  character  of  a  mis- 
sionary. 

It  is  right  to  profess  an  important  truth  at 
all  times  ;  because,  if  we  may  not  hope  that  it 
will  be  immediately  acknowledged,  still  it  may 
so  prepare  the  minds  of  others,  as  one  day  to 
produce  greater  impartiality  of  judgment,  and 
the  consequent  triumph  of  the  light. 


72  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

I  REMAINED  in  tlus  rooixi  a  month  and  some 
days.  The  night  of  the  18th  and  19th  of  Feb- 
ruary, 1821,  I  was  waked  by  the  sound  of 
bolts  and  keys  ;  I  saw  several  men  enter  with 
a  lantern  :  the  first  idea  which  occurred  to  me 
was,  that  they  had  come  to  cut  my  throat.  But 
while  I  looked  at  these  figures  in  perplexity,  I 
saw  Count  B.,*  who  politely  approached,  and 
desired  me  to  have  the  kindness  to  dress  myself 
immediately  in  order  to  depart. 

This  communication  surprised  me,  and  I  was 
so  foolish  as  to  hope,  that  I  was  about  to  be 
conducted  to  the  confines  of  Piedmont.  "  Is  it 
possible,"  thought  I,  ''  that  so  severe  a  tem- 
pest can  thus  pass  away  ?  And  shall  I  after 
all  regain  my  liberty  ?  Shall  I  again  see  my 
dear  parents,  my  brothers,  my  sisters  .''  " 

These  flattering  thoughts  agitated  me  for  a 
few  moments.     I  dressed  myself  hastily,  and  fol- 

*  Count  Bolza,  of  the  Lake  of  Como,  who  for  many 
years  served  the  Austrian  government  in  the  capacity  of 
commissary  of  pohce. 


MY    PRISONS.  73 

lowed  my  conductors,  without  being  able  even 
to  bid  farewell  to  my  neighbour.  I  thought  I 
heard  his  voice,  and  was  sorry  that  I  could  not 
reply  to  him. 

"  Where  are  we  going  ? "  said  I  to  the  Count, 
as  I  entered  the  coach  with  him  and  an  officer 
of  the  gendarmerie. 

"  I  cannot  inform  you,  until  we  are  a  mile 
beyond  Milan." 

I  saw  that  the  coach  did  not  go  towards  the 
Vercelli  Gate,  and  my  hopes  vanished  ! 

I  was  silent.  It  was  a  beautiful  moonlight 
night.  I  beheld  those  familiar  streets,  where 
I  had  for  years  been  accustomed  to  walk  in 
the  full  enjoyment  of  life,  those  houses,  those 
churches  ;  —  every  thing  brought  back  a  thou- 
sand tender  recollections. 

The  Avenue  of  the  Eastern  Gate,  the  public 
gardens,  where  I  had  so  many  times  wandered 
with  Foscolo,*  with   Monti,  "j"  with  Ludovico  di 

•  The  learning  of  Ugo  Foscolo,  and  the  fame  which  he 
acquired  by  liis  Carme  dci  Sepolcrl,  his  Vltimc  Lcttcre  di  Jo- 
copo  Ortis,  the  Discorsi  intorno  Dante,  Petrarca,  e  Boccaccio, 
Sec.,  are  well  known.  He  passed  the  last  years  of  his  life 
in  England,  dying  in  1827. 

t  The  Cavalier  Vinccnzo  Monti,  one  of  the  most  cele- 
brated modern  Italian  poets.     He  died  at  Milan  in  1829. 


74  MY    PRISONS. 

Breme,*  with  Pietro  Borsieri,f  with  Porro  and 
his  sons,  and  with  so  many  others  whom  I 
loved,  conversing  full  of  life  and  hope  !  —  as  I 
said  to  myself  that  I  saw  you  for  the  last  time, 
as  I  rapidly  left  you  behind,  oh  !  how  I  felt 
that  I  had  loved  you,  and  that  I  did  love  you 
still  !  When  we  had  passed  through  the  gate,  I 
drew  my  hat  over  my  eyes,  and  wept  unobserved. 

I  waited  till  we  had  travelled  more  than  a 
mile,  and  then  said  to  Count  B.,  "  I  suppose 
that  we  are  going  to  Verona." 

"We  go  further  than  that,"  he  replied  ;  "we 
are  going  to  Venice,  where  I  must  consign  you 
to  a  special  commission." 

We  travelled  post  without  stopping,  and  on 
the  20th  of  February  arrived  at  Venice. 

In  the    September   of  the   preceding   year,   a 

*  Monsignor  Ludovico  di  Breme,  son  of  the  Marchese  di 
Breme,  was  a  Piedmontese,  governor  of  the  pages  of  the 
ex-king  of  Italy,  the  friend  of  Madame  de  Staol  and  of 
M.  Sismondi,  and  a  man  of  elevated  sentiments,  great  vi- 
vacity, and  cultivated  mind. 

t  Don  Pietro  Borsieri,  the  son  of  a  judge  of  the  court  of 
appeal  in  Milan,  of  which  he  was,  before  being  condemned 
to  death,  one  of  the  secretaries.  He  is  the  author  of  sev- 
eral literary  works. 


MY    PRISONS.  75 

month  before  I  was  arrested,  I  was  at  Venice, 
and  dined  with  a  numerous  and  happy  party, 
at  the  Hotel  della  Luna.  Strange  coinci- 
dence !  I  was  carried  by  the  Count  and  the 
gendarme  to  the  very  same  Hotel  della  Luna. 

One  of  the  waiters  was  astonished  at  seeing 
me,  and  at  perceiving  (although  the  gendarme 
and  his  two  attendants,  who  appeared  as  ser- 
vants, were  disguised)  that  I  was  a  prisoner. 
I  was  pleased  at  this  meeting,  being  persuaded 
that  the  servant  would  speak  of  my  arrival  to 
others. 

We  dined  ;  —  I  was  then  conducted  to  the 
palace  of  the  Doge,  where  the  courts  of  justice 
are  now  held.  I  passed  under  those  familiar 
porticos  of  the  Procuratie,  and  before  the  Flo- 
nan  Coffee-house,  where  I  had  enjoyed  such 
delightful  evenings  the  past  autumn.  I  did  not 
meet  with  any  of  my  acquaintance. 

We  crossed  the  Piazzetta.  Upon  that  Piaz- 
zetta,  in  the  September  before,  a  beggar  had 
said  these  remarkable  words  to  me  ;  "  It  is 
plain  that  you  are  a  stranger,  Signore.  I  do 
not  understand  why  you  and  all  strangers  ad- 
mire this  place  ;  to  me  it  is  a  place  of  misfor- 
tune,   and  I  pass  here   only  from  necessity." 


"76  MY    PRISONS, 

"  Has  any  disaster  befallen  you  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Signore,  a  horrible  disaster,  and  not 
to  me  only.  God  preserve  you,  Signore  ;  God 
preserve  you  !  " 

And  he  went  away  in  haste. 

Now,  as  I  again  passed  there,  it  was  impos- 
sible not  to  I'ecollect  the  words  of  the  beggar. 
And  it  was  upon  that  very  Piazzetta  the  follow- 
ing year,  that  I  ascended  the  scaffold,  where  I 
heard  the  sentence  of  death  read,  and  the  com- 
mutation of  that  punishment  for  fifteen  years 
of  severe  imprisonment. 

If  I  were  disposed  to  be  superstitious,  I  should 
think  much  of  this  beggar,  who  so  emphatically 
pointed  out  this,  as  a  place  of  misfortune.  I 
notice  the  fact  only  as  a  singular  incident. 

We  ascended  to  the  palace  ;  Count  B.  spoke 
with  the  judges,  then  consigned  me  to  the  gaol- 
er, and,  taking  leave,  he  embraced  me  with 
emotion. 


MY    PRISONS.  77 


CHAPTER   XXIII, 

I  FOLLOWED  the  gaoler  in  silence.  After  hav- 
ing passed  through  several  passages,  and  several 
halls,  we  arrived  at  a  staircase,  which  carried 
us  under  the  Pioinbi  (the  Leads),  a  famous  state 
prison  from  the  time  of  the  republic  of  Venice. 
Here  the  gaoler  registered  my  name,  and 
then  shut  me  up  in  the  room  assigned  to  me. 
The  Piombi  (so  called)  form  the  upper  part  of 
the  former  palace  of  the  Doge,  entirely  covered 
with  lead. 

My  room  had  a  large  window,  with  enormous 
iron  bars,  and  looked  out  upon  the  roof  of  the 
church  of  St.  Mark,  likewise  covered  with  lead. 
Beyond  the  church,  I  saw  in  the  distance  the 
termination  of  the  Piazza,  and,  all  around,  an 
infinite  number  of  cupolas  and  steeples.  The 
gigantic  Campanile  of  St.  Mark's  was  separated 
from  me  only  by  the  length  of  the  church,  and 
I  could  hear  persons  on  the  top  of  it  Avhen  they 
spoke  somewhat  loudly.  I  saw  also,  on  the 
left  side  of  the  church,  a  portion  of  the  great 
court  of  the  palace,  and  one  of  the  entrances. 


78  MY    PRISONS. 

In  that  part  of  the  court  was  a  public  well, 
and  people  came  there  continually  to  draw  wa- 
ter. But  my  prison  being  so  high,  the  men 
below  looked  like  children,  and  I  could  not  dis- 
tinguish their  words,  except  when  they  raised 
their  voices.  I  found  myself  much  more  solitary 
here  than  in  the   prisons  of  Milan. 

During  the  first  days,  the  business  of  the 
criminal  process,  to  which  I  was  subjected  by 
the  special  commission,  produced  a  degree  of 
sadness,  that  was  increased,  perhaps,  by  the 
painful  feeling  of  greater  solitude.  Besides,  I 
was  further  from  my  family,  and  had  no  longer 
any  information  of  them.  The  new  faces  which 
I  saw,  expressed  no  aversion  to  me  ;  but  they 
preserved  a  seriousness,  as  if  they  were  terri- 
fied. They  had  heard  exaggerated  reports  of 
the  plots  of  the  Milanese  and  of  the  rest  of 
Italy,  for  obtaining  independence,  and  they  sus- 
pected that  I  was  one  of  the  most  unpardonable 
exciters  of  that  delirium.  My  literary  celebrity, 
such  as  it  was,  was  known  to  the  gaoler,  to  his 
wife,  his  daughter,  his  two  boys,  and  even  to 
the  two  secondini  ;  and  who  knows  but  they  all 
believed  an  author  of  tragedies  to  be  a  kind  of 
magician. 


MY    PRISONS.  79 

They  were  grave  and  distrustful,  eager  that 
I  should  give  them  more  information  about  my- 
self, but  full  of  civility. 

After  a  few  days,  their  shyness  abated,  and  I 
found  them  well  disposed.  The  wife  had  most 
of  the  countenance  and  character  of  a  gaoler. 
She  was  a  woman  with  a  very  sharp  face,  about 
forty  years  old,  and  very  sharp  in  her  words  ; 
and  did  not  give  the  smallest  sign  of  being 
capable  of  kindness  to  any  one  but  her  chil- 
dren. 

She  commonly  brought  me  my  coffee  in  the 
morning  and  after  dinner,  water,  linen,  &c. 
She  was  usually  accompanied  by  her  daughter, 
a  girl  of  fifteen,  not  handsome,  but  with  a  com- 
passionate expression,  and  her  two  sons,  one 
thirteen,  the  other  ten  years  of  age.  They 
withdrew  with  their  mother,  and  their  three 
young  faces  turned  gently  to  look  at  me  as 
the  door  was  closed.  The  gaoler  came  to  my 
room  only  when  he  had  to  conduct  me  to  the 
hall,  where  the  commission  for  my  examination 
held  its  meetings.  The  secondini  seldom  came 
near  mc,  being  occupied  in  attending  the  pris- 
ons of  the  police,  wliich  were  placed  upon  a 
lower   floor,    and   were    always   full    of  thieves. 


80  MY    PRISONS. 

One  of  these  sccondini  was  more  than  seventy 
years  old,  but  still  able  to  endure  the  fatigue  of 
perpetually  going  up  and  down  stairs  to  the  dif- 
ferent cells.  The  other  was  a  young  man  of 
twenty-four  or  five,  more  disposed  to  talk  of  his 
love  affairs,  than  to  attend  to  his  business. 


MY    PRISONS.  81 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

To   one   accused   of  hostility   to   the    govern- 
ment,  the   anxiety  attending  a  criminal  process 
is  dreadful.     How  much  apprehension  is  felt  of 
injuring  others  !     How  difficult  it  is  to  struggle 
against   so  many   charges,   so  many   suspicions  ! 
How   probable    it    is,    that   every  thing  will  be- 
come   more    and    more    miserably    entangled,    if 
the    process    do   not    quickly   terminate,    if  new 
arrests  are  made,  if  new  imprudences   are  dis- 
covered, even   of  individuals   who  are  strangers 
to  the  accused,  but  belonging  to  the  same  party  ! 
I  have  resolved  not  to  speak  of  politics,  and 
I  must,  therefore,   suppress    all   account    of  my 
examination.     I  will  only  say,  that  after  having 
been  subjected  to   it  for  many  hours,  I  returned 
to    my   room    so    irritated,    so    enraged,    that    I 
should    have    destroyed    myself,    if  the   voice    of 
religion,    and    the     recollection    of    my    beloved 
relatives,  had  not  restrained  me. 

The   habit  of  tranquillity,   which    at    Milan    I 
thought  I    had    acquired,    was    lost.     For    some 
days    I    despaired    of    ever    recovering    it,    and 
6 


82  MY    PRISONS. 

they  were  days  of  torture.  I  ceased  to  pray, 
I  questioned  the  justice  of  God,  I  cursed  man- 
kind and  the  universe,  and  revolved  in  my  mind 
all  possible  sophisms   upon  the  vanity  of  virtue. 

An  unhappy  and  exasperated  man  is  horribly 
ingenious  in  calumniating  his  fellow-creatures, 
and  even  the  Creator  himself.  Anger  is  more 
immoral,  more  wicked,  than  is  commonly  thought. 
Although  one  cannot  rage  from  morning  till 
night  for  a  week,  and  the  mind  most  enslaved 
by  passion  must  have  intervals  of  repose,  yet 
in  these  intervals  we  usually  feel  the  effects 
of  the  immorality  which  has  preceded  them. 
The  mind  seems  to  be  at  peace,  but  it  is  a 
malignant,  irreligious  peace  ;  a  savage  compla- 
cency, without  charity,  without  dignity  ;  a  feel- 
ing  of  pleasure   in  disorder,  riot,   and  scorn. 

In  such  a  state  I  sung  for  whole  hours,  with 
a  kind  of  merriment  which  had  nothing  in  it 
of  good  feeling.  I  jested  with  all  who  entered 
my  apartment  ;  I  forced  myself  to  regard  all 
things  with  a  vulgar  wisdom,  the  wisdom  of 
cynics. 

This  disgraceful  state  did  not  last  long,  —  six 
or  seven  days. 

My  Bible  was  covered  with  dust.     One  of  the 


MY    PRISONS.  83 

gaoler's  boys  said,  while  caressing  me  ;  "  Since 
you  have  ceased  to  read  that  ugly  book,  you 
are  much  less  melancholy,   I   think." 

"Do   you  think  so  ^  "  said  I. 

And  taking  the  Bible,  I  wiped  the  dust  from 
it  with  my  handkerchief,  and  opening  it  at  ran- 
dom, my  eyes  fell  upon  these  words  :  "  Theti 
said  he  to  his  disciples,  It  is  impossible  that  of- 
fences should  not  come  :  but  tcoe  to  him  through 
whom  they  come  !  It  tvere  better  for  him  that  a 
millstone  were  hanged  about  his  neck,  and  he  icere 
cast  into  the  sea,  than  that  he  should  offend  one 
of  these   little  ones."* 

I  was  struck  by  finding  these  words,  and 
blushed  that  the  boy  should  have  perceived, 
from  the  dust  which  he  saw  upon  it,  that  I  no 
longer  read  the  Bible,  and  that  he  should  sup- 
pose I  had  become  more  amiable  by  being  re- 
gardless of  God. 

"  You  graceless  little  fellow,"  said  I  to  him, 
reproving  him  gently,  and  grieved  for  having 
been  an  offence  to  him  ;  "  This  is  not  an  ^ighj 
book,  and  I  am  in  a  very  bad  state  since  I  neg- 
lected  to  road   it.     When  your  mother   permits 

•  Luke,  chapter  xvii.  verses  1,  2. 


84  MY    PRISONS. 

you  to  stay  a  moment  with  me,  I  endeavour 
to  drive  away  my  bad  humor  ;  but  you  do  not 
know  how  it  overcomes  me  when  I  am  alone, 
when  you  hear  me  sing  hke  a  madman  !  " 


MY    PRISONS.  85 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

The  boy  left  me  ;  and  I  felt  a  degree  of  pleas- 
ure at  having  again  taken  the  Bible  in  my  hand, 
and  having  confessed  that  I  was  in  a  worse 
state  without  it.  It  seemed  to  me,  as  if  I  had 
made  satisfaction  to  a  generous  friend,  whom  I 
had  unjustly  offended  ;  as  if  I  had  effected  a 
reconciliation. 

"And  had  I  abandoned  thee,  my  God?"  I 
exclaimed.  "  And  had  I  become  perverted  ? 
And  could  I  believe  that  the  infamous  sneer  of 
cynicism  was  suited  to  my  desperate  situa- 
tion ?  " 

I  pronounced  these  words  with  indescribable 
emotion  ;  I  placed  the  Bible  upon  a  chair,  knelt 
down  to  read,  and  I,  who  am  so  often  unable 
to  weep,  burst  into  tears. 

Those  tears  were  a  thousand  times  sweeter, 
than  all  irrational  mirth.  I  again  felt  the  pres- 
ence of  God  !  I  loved  Him,  I  repented  having 
ofTendod  Him  by  degrading  myself,  and  I  vowed 
never  again  to  separate  myself  from  Him  ;  never 
again  ! 


86  MY    PRISONS. 

Oh  !  how  a  sincere  return  to  religion  con- 
soles and  elevates  the  spirit  ! 

I  read  and  wept  for  more  than  an  hour,  and 
rose  full  of  faith,  that  God  was  with  me,  that 
God  had  pardoned  all  my  folly.  Then  my 
misfortunes,  the  torments  of  the  examination, 
the  scaffold,  which  would  probably  be  my  fate, 
appeared  to  me  small  things.  I  exulted  in  suf- 
fering, since  that  gave  opportunity  for  the  ex- 
ercise of  virtue,  since,  by  suffering  with  a  re- 
signed  spirit,   I   obeyed  the   Lord. 

Thanks  to  Heaven,  I  knew  how  the  Bible 
should  be  read.  I  no  longer  judged  it  with 
the  wretched  criticism  of  Voltaire,  treating  con- 
temptuously expressions  that  are  neither  laugh- 
able nor  false,  except  when  through  real  igno- 
rance or  malice  their  meaning  is  not  understood. 
I  clearly  perceived,  that  it  is  the  code  of  ho- 
liness, and  therefore  of  truth  ;  that  to  be  of- 
fended by  certain  imperfections  of  style  is  un- 
philosophical,  and  like  the  pride  of  him,  who 
despises  every  thing  which  does  not  possess 
elegance  of  form  ;  that  it  is  absurd  to  imagine, 
that  such  a  collection  of  venerable  religious 
books  should  not  have  an  authentic  origin  ;  and 
that   the  superiority  of  such  writings  over   the 


MY    PRISONS.  87 

Koran,   and    the    theology   of  India,   is    indispu- 
table. 

Many  have  made  a  bad  use  of  them;  it  has 
been  the  aim  of  many  to  make  them  a  code  of 
injustice,  a  sanction  for  their  wicked  passions. 
This  is  true  ;  but  it  is  always  so  ;  every  thing 
may  be  abused  ;  and  in  what  case  should  the 
abuse  of  an  excellent  thing  lead  us  to  say,  that 
it  is  in  itself  bad  } 

As  Jesus  Christ  proclaimed,  the  sum  of  the 
law  and  the  prophets,  of  all  this  collection  of 
sacred  books,  is  to  be  found  in  the  precept  of 
loving  God  and  man.  And  must  not  such  wri- 
tings contain  truth  adapted  to  every  age  ?  Must 
they  not  be  the  ever-living  words  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  .'' 

These  reflections  being  awakened  in  me,  I  re- 
newed my  purpose  of  disposing  all  my  thoughts 
on  human  things,  all  my  opinions  upon  the  pro- 
gress of  civilization,  my  philanthropy,  my  pa- 
triotism, and  all  the  affections  of  my  soul,  in 
conformity  to  religion. 

The  few  days  I  had  passed  in  cynicism  had 
greatly  injured  me.  I  felt  the  effects  for  a 
long  time,  and  was  obliged  to  labor  to  over- 
come them.     Every  time  man  yields   in  any  dc- 


«a  MYPRISONS. 

gree  to  the  temptation  of  degrading  his  intel- 
lect, of  regarding  the  works  of  God  through  the 
infernal  medium  of  scorn,  of  abandoning  the 
beneficial  exercise  of  prayer,  the  injury  which 
he  does  to  his  own  reason  renders  him  liable 
to  fall  again.  For  many  weeks  I  was  assailed 
almost  every  day  by  strong  unbelieving  thoughts. 
I  exerted  all  the  power  of  my  mind  to  repel 
them. 


MYPRISONS.  89 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

When  these  conflicts  had  ceased,  and  I  again 
felt  myself  firm  in  the  habit  of  honoring  God 
with  my  whole  will,  I  enjoyed  for  some  time  a 
delightful  state  of  tranquillity.  The  examina- 
tions, to  Avhich  the  commission  subjected  me 
every  two  or  three  days,  however  painful  they 
might  be,  no  longer  produced  lasting  disquiet. 
I  strove,  in  this  difficult  position,  not  to  fail  in 
what  was  due  to  others,  and  to  my  own  honor, 
and  then  said  ;   "Let   God  order  the  rest." 

I  resumed  the  habit  of  daily  anticipating  ev- 
ery surprise,  every  emotion,  every  supposable 
misfortune  ;  and  this  exercise  was  again  a  great 
help  to  me. 

Meanwhile  my  solitude  increased.  The  two 
sons  of  the  gaoler,  who  at  first  gave  me  some- 
times a  little  of  their  company,  were  put  to 
school,  and,  being  in  consequence  little  at  home, 
they  came  no  more  to  see  mo.  The  mother 
and  the  sister,  who,  when  the  boys  were  there, 
often  stopped  to  talk  with  me,  now  appeared  no 
more,   except  to  bring  my  coffee,  and  then  left 


90  31  y    PRISONS. 

me.  As  to  the  mother,  I  cared  but  little  about 
her,  for  she  did  not  show  a  compassionate  heart. 
But  the  daughter,  though  plain,  had  a  certain 
gentleness  in  her  looks  and  words,  that  led 
me  to  put  some  value  upon  them.  When  she 
brought  my  coffee,  and  said,  "  I  made  it,"  it 
always  seemed  to  be  excellent.  When  she 
said,  "Mamma  made  it,"  it  was  only  warm  wa- 
ter. 

Seeing  human  beings  so  seldom,  I  occupied 
myself  with  some  ants,  that  came  upon  my  win- 
dow. I  fed  them  sumptuously  ;  they  went  to 
call  an  army  of  their  companions,  and  my  win- 
dow was  full  of  these  insects.  I  took  notice, 
also,  of  a  beautiful  spider,  which  hung  its 
tapestry  upon  one  of  my  walls.  I  fed  him 
with  flies  and  with  gnats,  and  he  grew  familiar 
enough  with  me  to  come  upon  my  bed,  and  on 
my  hand,  and  to  take  his  prey  from  my  fingers. 

Would  that  these  had  been  the  only  insects 
that  visited  me  !  Though  it  was  yet  spring, 
the  gnats  had  already  multiplied,  I  may  with 
truth  say,  frightfully.  The  winter  had  been 
extraordinarily  mild  ;  and,  after  some  windy 
weather  in  March,  the  hot  season  came  on. 
The  heat  of  the   air  in  the   den   that   I    inhab- 


MY    PRISONS.  91 

ited,  is  indescribable.  It  faced  directly  south, 
under  a  leaden  roof,  and  with  the  window  open- 
ing on  the  roof  of  St.  Mark's,  also  of  lead,  the 
reflection  from  which  was  tremendous.  I  was 
suffocated.  I  had  never  had  an  idea  of  such 
oppressive  heat.  In  addition  to  this  suffering 
there  was  such  a  multitude  of  gnats,  that,  how- 
ever I  labored  to  destroy  them,  I  was  covered 
with  them  ;  the  bed,  the  table,  the  chair,  the 
floor,  the  walls,  the  ceiling,  every  thing  was 
covered  with  them  :  and  the  surrounding  air 
contained  an  infinite  number,  always  going  and 
coming  through  the  window,  and  making  an 
infernal  buzzing.  The  stings  of  these  crea- 
tures are  not  a  little  painful  ;  and  when  one  is 
pierced  by  them  from  morning  till  night,  and 
from  night  till  morning,  and  has  the  everlasting 
vexation  of  striving  to  diminish  their  number, 
he  in  truth  suffers  much  both  in  body  and  mind. 
When  I  had  learned  from  experience  the  se- 
verity of  this  torment,  and  was  unable  to  ob- 
tain a  change  of  my  prison,  the  thought  of 
suicide  entered  my  mind,  and  at  times  I  feared 
that  I  should  become  mad.  But  thanks  to  Heav- 
en, these  were  not  lasting  disorders  of  my  mind, 
and  religion  continued  to  sustain  me.     It  taught 


92  MY    PRISONS. 

me,  that  man  should  endure,  and  endure  with 
fortitude  ;  it  made  me  feel  a  certain  satisfac- 
tion in  pain,  a  complacency  in  not  being  sub- 
dued by  it,  in  overcoming  every  thing. 

I  said ;  "  Inasmuch  as  life  is  made  painful  to 
me,  so  much  the  less  shall  I  be  cast  down,  if, 
young  as  I  am,  I  should  be  condemned  to  death. 
Without  these  preliminary  sufferings,  perhaps, 
I  should  die  like  a  coward.  And  then,  have  I 
such  virtues  as  merit  happiness  }  What  are 
they  ?  " 

And  examining  myself  with  just  rigor,  I  found, 
in  the  years  I  had  lived,  only  a  few  specious 
traits  of  character  ;  all  the  rest  was  made  up 
of  foolish,  idolatrous  passions,  proud  and  false 
virtues.  ^'  It  is  well,"  I  concluded  ;  "  suffer, 
unworthy  man,  suffer  !  If,  through  passion  and 
without  any  right,  men  and  gnats  should  tor- 
ment thee  to  death,  acknowledge  them  as  the 
instruments  of  divine  justice,  and  be  silent." 


MY    PRISONS.  93 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

Does  it  need  an  effort  for  man  to  be  sin- 
cerely humble  ?  to  be  sensible  that  he  is  a  sin- 
ner ?  Is  it  not  true,  that  in  general  we  waste 
youth  in  vanity,  and  that,  instead  of  striving 
with  all  our  powers  to  advance  in  the  career 
of  goodness,  we  employ  them  in  a  great  meas- 
ure to  degrade  ourselves  }  There  may  be  ex- 
ceptions, but  I  confess  they  do  not  concern  my 
poor  self.  And  I  have  no  merit  in  being  dis- 
contented with  myself  When  I  see  a  lamp 
which  gives  more  smoke  than  flame,  it  requires 
no  great  sincerity  to  say,  that  it  does  not  burn 
as   it   should. 

Yes  ;  without  self-abasement,  without  the  scru- 
ples of  a  bigot,  contemplating  myself  with  all 
possible  tranquillity  of  mind,  I  perceived  that 
I  deserved  the  chastisements  of  God.  A  voice 
from  within  said  to  me  ;  "  Such  chastisements 
are  due  to  thee  for  one  reason,  if  not  for  an- 
other ;  may  they  avail  to  reconduct  thee  to- 
wards Him  who  is  perfect,  and  whom  mortals 
are  called  to  imitate,  according  to  their  finite 
powers." 


94  MY    PRISONS. 

With  what  reason,  while  I  was  constrained 
to  condemn  myself  for  a  thousand  faults  before 
God,  could  I  complain,  if  some  men  appear- 
ed to  me  despicable  and  others  wicked  ;  if 
worldly  prosperity  was  taken  from  me  ;  if  I 
were  to  perish  in  a  dungeon,  or  to  suffer  a  vio- 
lent death  ? 

I  endeavoured  to  fix  in  my  heart  reflections 
so  just  and  wise  ;  and,  this  being  done,  I  saw 
that  it  was  necessary  to  be  consistent,  and  that 
I  could  be  so  in  no  other  way,  but  by  blessing 
the  righteous  judgments  of  God,  by  loving  Him, 
and  by  extinguishing  in  myself  every  desire  op- 
posed to  His  will. 

In  order  to  become  more  steadfast  in  this 
resolution,  I  determined  henceforward  diligent- 
ly to  develope  all  my  thoughts  by  committing 
them  to  writing.  The  difficulty  was,  that  al- 
though the  commission  allowed  me  to  have  ink 
and  paper,  yet  they  numbered  the  sheets,  pro- 
hibiting the  destruction  of  any  of  them,  and 
requiring  that  the  manner  in  which  I  used  them 
should  be  submitted  to  their  examination.  To 
supply  the  place  of  paper,  I  had  recourse  to 
the  innocent  artifice  of  smoothing  with  a  piece 
of  glass  a  rough  table  that  I  had  ;  upon  which 


MY    PRISONS.  95 

I  then  wrote   every  day  long  meditations  on  the 
duties   of  man,   and  on   my  own  in  particular. 

I  do  not  exaggerate  when  I  say,  that  the 
hours  thus  employed  were  sometimes  delightful 
to  me,  notwithstanding  the  difficulty  of  breath- 
ing, which  I  suffered  in  consequence  of  the 
extreme  heat,  and  notwithstanding  the  painful 
stings  of  the  gnats.  To  escape  their  stings  as 
far  as  possible,  I  was  obliged,  in  spite  of  the 
heat,  to  wrap  myself  up  from  head  to  foot,  and 
to  write,  not  only  with  gloves,  but  with  a  band- 
age round  my  wrists,  that  the  gnats  might  not 
get  into  my  sleeves. 

My  meditations  assumed  a  biographical  char- 
acter. I  gave  an  account  of  all  the  good  and 
evil  dispositions,  that  had  been  formed  witli- 
in  me  from  childhood  to  that  time,  entering 
into  discussions  with  myself,  endeavouring  to 
explain  all  my  doubts,  and  arranging,  in  the 
best  manner  I  could,  all  my  knowledge,  and  all 
my  ideas  upon   every  subject. 

When  the  whole  surface  of  the  table,  which 
could  be  used,  was  filled  with  writing,  I  read 
It  again  and  again  ;  I  meditated  upon  my  for- 
mer meditations,  and  at  last  resolved  (often 
with   regret  j  to  scrape   it   all  off  with  the  glass, 


96  MY    PRISONS. 

in  order  to  have   the    surface    again   fit   to   re- 
ceive my  thoughts. 

I  then  pursued  my  narrative,  continually  bro- 
ken by  digressions  of  all  sorts,  by  analyses  of 
various  points  of  metaphysics,  of  morals,  of  po- 
litics, and  of  religion  ;  and  when  the  table  was 
wholly  covered  anew,  I  read  over  and  over 
what  I  had  written,   and  then   effaced  it   again. 

Being  unwilling  that  any  thing  should  prevent 
me  from  bringing  before  my  mind  with  perfect 
fidelity  my  actions,  so  far  as  I  could  recollect 
them,  and  my  opinions,  and  foreseeing  at  the 
same  time  the  possibility  of  some  inquisitorial 
visit,  I  wrote  in  cipher,  that  is,  with  transpo- 
sitions of  letters  and  abbreviations,  to  which  I 
had  been  accustomed.  Such  a  visit,  however, 
never  happened,  and  no  one  was  aware  that  I 
passed  my  sad  time  thus  comfortably.  When 
I  heard  the  gaoler  or  others  opening  the  door, 
I  covered  the  table  with  a  table-cloth,  and  put 
the  ink  and  the  legal  little  quire  of  paper  upon  it. 


MY    PRISONS.  97 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

Some  of  my  hours  were  likewise  devoted  to 
that  small  quire,  sometimes  a  whole  day,  or  a 
whole  night.  On  that  I  wrote  literary  articles. 
I  composed  at  this  time  the  Ester  d'  Eno-addi 
and  the  Iginia  d'  Asti,  and  the  poems  entitled 
Tancreda,  Rosilde,  Eligi  e  Vulafrido,  and  Mello  ; 
besides  several  skeletons  of  tragedies  and  of 
other  works,  among  them,  a  poem  upon  the 
Lombard  League,  and  another  upon  Christopher 
Columbus. 

As  it  was  not  always  easy  to  obtain  a  re- 
newal of  my  paper  when  it  was  used,  I  made 
the  first  draft  of  every  composition  upon  the 
table,  or  upon  tlie  wrapping-paper  in  which 
dried  figs  or  other  fruits  had  been  brought  to 
me.  Sometimes,  by  giving  my  dinner  to  one 
of  the  sccondini,  making  him  believe  that  I  had 
no  appetite,  I  induced  hiin  to  bring  me  some 
sheets  of  paper.  This  happened  only  in  cer- 
tain cases,  when  the  table  was  already  cover- 
ed with  writing,  and  I  could  not  yet  determine 
to  erase  it.  Then  I  suffered  from  hunger  ;  but, 
7 


98  31  Y    P  R I  S  O  JN  S . 

although  the  gaoler  had  my  money  in  deposit, 
I  did  not  ask  him  for  food  through  the  whole 
day,  partly  that  he  might  not  suspect  that  I 
had  o-iven  away  my  dinner,  and  partly  that  the 
secondino  might  not  perceive  that  I  had  de- 
ceived him,  when  I  assured  him  of  my  want 
of  appetite.  In  the  evening  I  sustained  myself 
with  strong  coffee,  and  I  begged  that  la  Sio7'a 
Zanze  *  would  make  it.  This  was  the  daughter 
of  the  gaoler,  who,  if  she  could  do  it  without 
the  knowledge  of  her  mother,  made  it  very 
strong  ;  so  that,  taken  upon  an  empty  stomach, 
it  caused  a  kind  of  nervous  affection,  that  was 
not  unpleasant,  and  kept  me  awake  all  night. 

In  this  state  of  gentle  intoxication,  I  felt  my 
intellectual  powers  redoubled.  I  made  verses, 
philosophized,  and  prayed  until  the  dawn  of  day, 
with  wonderful  pleasure.  A  sudden  weakness 
afterwards  seized  me  ;  then  I  threw  myself  on 
the  bed,  and  in  spite  of  the  gnats,  which,  al- 
though I  wrapped  myself  up,  succeeded  in  get- 
ting at  me  to  suck  my  blood,  I  slept  profoundly 
for  an  hour  or  two. 

These     nights    of    excitement,    produced    by 

*  La  Signora  Angiola. 


MY    PRISONS.  99 

strong  coffee  taken  upon  an  empty  stomach, 
and  passed  in  such  pleasant  exaltation,  seemed 
too  agreeable  not  to  be  often  sought  for.  In 
consequence,  even  when  I  did  not  want  paper 
from  the  secondbio,  I  frequently  determined  not 
to  taste  a  mouthful  of  dinner,  in  order  to  pro- 
cure in  the  evening  the  desired  charm  of  the 
magical  beverage.  Happy  was  it  for  me,  when 
I  obtained  my  object.  More  than  once  it  hap- 
pened, that  the  coffee  was  not  made  by  the 
compassionate  Zanze,  and  the  wretched  stuff 
was  unavailing.  Then  the  disappointment  made 
me  a  little  ill-humored.  Instead  of  beinar  ex- 
cited,  I  was  languid,  I  yawned,  suffered  from 
hunger,  threw  myself  upon  the  bed,  and  could 
not  sleep. 

Then  I  complained  of  it  to  Zanze,  and  she 
pitied  me.  One  day,  when  I  reproved  her 
harshly,  as  if  she  had  deceived  me,  the  poor 
girl  wept,  and  said  to  me  ;  "  Signore,  I  have 
never  deceived  any  body,  and  yet  every  one 
calls  me  a  deceiver." 

"  Every  one  ^  Oh  !  then  it  is  clear  that  1 
am  not  the  only  person  who  is  angry  about  this 
wretched  coffee." 

"  I  do  not  mean  that,  Signore.     Ah  !    if  you 


100  MY    PRISONS. 

only  knew  !  ...  if  I  could  pour  out  my  wretch- 
ed heart  into  yours  !  .  .  .  " 

"  Well,  do  not  weep  so  !  What  the  deuce 
is  the  matter  with  you  ?  I  ask  your  pardon, 
if  I  have  scolded  you  unjustly.  I  really  be- 
lieve it  is  not  your  fault  that  I  had  such  bad 
coffee." 

"Alas!  I  do  not  weep  for  that,  Signore." 

My  self-love  was  somewhat  mortified,  but  I 
smiled. 

"  My  scolding  then  is  only  the  occasion  of 
your  tears  ;  the  real  cause  is  something  quite 
different." 

"Yes,  truly." 

"  Who  calls  you  a  deceiver  .''  " 

"My  lover." 

And  her  face  was  covered  with  blushes.  And 
in  her  ingenuous  confidence  she  related  to  me 
a  serio-comic  idyl,  which  affected  me. 


MY    PRISONS.  101 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

From  that  day  I  became,  I  know  not  why, 
the  confidant  of  the  girl,  and  she  was  disposed 
to  talk  with  me  a  great  deal. 

She  said  to  me  ;  "  Signore,  you  are  so  good, 
that  I  look  up  to  you  as  a  daughter  looks  up 
to  her  father." 

"You  pay  me  a  poor  compliment,"  I  replied, 
pushing  away  her  hand  ;  "I  am  hardly  thirty- 
two  years  old,  and  yet  you  look  up  to  me  as 
your  father." 

"Well  then,  Signore,  I  will  say  as  a  brother." 

And  she  seized  my  hand,  and  held  it  affec- 
tionately. And  all  this  was  in  perfect  inno- 
cence. 

I  said  to  myself  afterwards  ;  "  It  is  fortunate 
she  is  not  a  beauty  ;  otherwise  this  innocent 
familiarity  might  disconcert  me." 

At  other  times  I  said  ;  "  It  is  fortunate  she 
is  so  young  !  There  can  be  no  danger  of  my 
being  in  love  with  such  a  child." 

At  other  times  I  was  a  little  uneasy  from  its 
seeming  to  me,  that  I  had   deceived   myself  in 


102  MY    PRISONS. 

considering  her  plain,  and  I  was  obliged  to  ac- 
knowledge that  the  outline  of  her  form  and  fea- 
tures was  not  irregular. 

"  If  she  were  not  so  pale,"  said  I,  "  and  had 
not  those  few  freckles  on  her  face,  she  might 
pass  for  handsome." 

In  truth,  it  is  impossible  not  to  find  some 
charm  in  the  presence,  looks,  and  conversation 
of  a  lively  and  affectionate  girl,  I  had  done 
nothing  to  win  her  kindness  ;  and  yet  I  was 
dear  to  her,  as  a  father  or  a  brother,  as  I  might 
prefer.  Why  ?  Because  she  had  read  the 
Francesca  da  Rimini,  and  the  Eiifemio,  and  my 
verses  made  her  weep  so  much  !  and  then  I  was 
a  prisoner,  without  having,  as  she  said,  either 
robbed  or  murdered ! 

In  short,  how  was  it  possible  that  I,  who 
had  been  attached  to  Maddalena  without  see- 
ing her,  should  be  indifferent  to  the  sisterly 
attentions,  to  the  agreeable  flattery,  to  the  ex- 
cellent coffee  of  the 

"Venezianina  adolescente  sbirra".'* 

I  should  be   an  impostor,  were  I  to  attribute 

*  The  young  Venetian  police-girl. 


MY    PRISONS.  103 

to  discretion  my  not  being  in  love  with  her.  I 
was  not  in  love  with  her,  simply  because  she 
had  a  lover,  of  whom  she  was  passionately  fond. 
Woe  to  me,  had  it  been  otherwise  ! 

But  if  the  sentiment  she  awoke  in  me  was 
not  what  is  called  love,  I  confess  that  it  was 
something  like  it.  I  desired  that  she  should 
be  happy,  that  she  should  succeed  in  mai-rying 
him  who  pleased  her.  I  had  not  the  least  jeal- 
ousy, not  the  smallest  idea  that  she  could  se- 
lect me  as  the  object  of  her  affection.  But 
when  I  heard  the  door  open,  my  heart  beat 
with  the  hope  that  it  was  Zanze  ;  and  if  it  were 
not,  I  was  dissatisfied  ;  but  if  it  were,  my 
heart  beat  yet  more  strongly,  and  I  was  re- 
joiced. 

Her  parents,  who  had  already  conceived  a 
good  opinion  of  me,  and  knew  that  she  was 
passionately  in  love  with  another,  felt  no  con- 
cern about  allowing  her  to  come  almost  always 
to  bring  my  coffee  in  the  morning,  and  some- 
times in  the  evening. 

She  was  simple  and  winningly  affectionate. 
She  said  to  me  ;  "  I  am  so  much  in  love  with 
another,  and  yet  I  am  so  ready  to  stay  with 
you  !  When  I  do  not  see  my  lover,  I  feel 
dissatisfied  everywhere  but  here." 


104  MY    PRISONS. 

"Do  you  know  why  ?  " 

"No,  I  do  not." 

"  I  will  tell  you  ;  it  is  because  I  let  you  talk 
of  your  lover." 

"That  may  very  well  be  ;  but  it  seems  to 
me,  that  it  is  likewise  because  I  esteem  you  so 
very,  very  much  !  " 

Poor  girl  !  she  had  the  blessed  fault  of  con- 
tinually taking  my  hand  and  pressing  it,  and 
did  not  perceive  that  this  pleased  and  disturbed 
me  at  the  same  time. 

But  thanks  be  to  Heaven,  I  can  remember 
her  without  the  least   remorse  ! 


MY   PRISONS.  105 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

These  pages  would  certainly  be  more  inter- 
esting if  Zanze  had  been  in  love  with  me,  or 
if  I  at  least  had  been  distracted  for  her.  Yet 
that  simple  good  will  which  united  us,  was  more 
precious  to  me  than  love.  And,  if  sometimes 
I  feared  that  it  would  change  its  character  in 
my  foolish  heart,  I  was  seriously  grieved  at  the 
thought. 

Once,  apprehensive  that  this  would  happen, 
distressed  to  find  her  (I  knew  not  by  what  en- 
chantment) a  hundred  times  more  pleasing  than 
she  had  seemed  to  me  at  first,  surprised  by 
the  melancholy  I  sometimes  experienced  when 
she  was  absent,  and  by  the  joy  which  her  pres- 
ence brought  back  to  me  ;  I  undertook  for  two 
days  to  appear  cold  and  stern,  imagining  that 
she  would  discontinue  in  some  degree  her  fa- 
miliarity with  me.  This  expedient  was  of  little 
use  ;  the  poor  girl  was  so  patient,  so  compas- 
sionate !  .She  rested  her  elbow  on  tlic  window, 
and  stood  looking  at  mo  silently.  Then  she 
said  to  me  : 


106  flIY    PRISONS. 

"  Signore,  you  appear  to  be  weary  of  my 
company  ;  yet  if  I  could,  I  would  remain  here 
all  day  ;  just  because  I  see  that  you  need  to 
be  drawn  away  from  your  own  thoughts.  This 
ill  humor  is  the  natural  effect  of  solitude  ;  but 
if  you  would  try  to  talk  a  little,  it  would  go 
off;  and  if  you  do  not  wish  to    talk,  I  will." 

"Of  your  lover,  eh  ?  " 

"  Oh  no  !  not  always  of  him.  I  can  talk  of 
something  else." 

And  she  actually  began  to  tell  me  of  her 
little  domestic  interests,  of  the  harshness  of  her 
mother,  of  her  father's  kindness,  of  the  boyish 
tricks  of  her  brothers  ;  and  her  narratives  were 
full  of  simplicity  and  grace.  But,  without  per- 
ceiving it,  she  always  returned  to  the  favorite 
theme,  her  unfortunate  love. 

I  persisted  however  in  being  ungracious,  and 
I  hoped  that  she  would  be  displeased  by  it. 
But  either  from  inconsideration  or  from  art,  she 
paid  no  attention  to  it,  and  I  was  compelled  at 
last  to  appear  cheerful  again,  to  smile,  to  be 
moved,  and  to  thank  her  for  her  sweet  patience 
with  me. 

I  dismissed  the  ungrateful  design  of  displeas- 
ing her,  and  by  degrees  my  apprehensions  were 


MY    PRISONS.  107 

calmed.  In  truth  I  was  not  in  love  with  her  ; 
I  examined  my  scruples  a  long  time,  I  wrote 
my  reflections  upon  the  subject,  and  I  was 
benefited  by  revolving  them  in  my  mind. 

Man  sometimes  terrifies  himself  by  bugbears, 
created  out  of  nothing.  In  order  not  to  fear 
them,  we  must  look  at  them  closely,  and  with 
greater  attention. 

And  how  was  I  to  blame,  if  I  wished  for  her 
visits  with  tender  solicitude,  if  I  appreciated 
their  sweetness,  if  I  was  pleased  to  be  pitied 
by  her,  and  requited  sympathy  with  sympathy, 
since  our  thoughts  relating  to  each  other  were 
as  pure  as  the  purest  thoughts  of  infancy  ; 
since  even  her  taking  my  hand,  and  her  most 
affectionate  looks,  while  they  disturbed  me,  yet 
filled  me  with  salutary  respect  ? 

One  evening,  while  she  poured  into  my  heart 
a  great  affliction  which  she  had  experienced, 
the  unhappy  girl  threw  her  arms  around  my 
neck,  and  my  face  was  wet  with  her  tears.  In 
this  embrace,  there  was  not  the  least  thought 
of  impropriety.  A  daughter  could  not  embrace 
her  father  with  more  respect. 

But  my  imagination  was  afterwards  too  much 
affected  by  it.     This  embrace  often  returned  to 


108  MY    PRISONS. 

my  mind,  and  then  I  could  no   longer   think  of 
any  thing  else. 

Another  time,  when  she  abandoned  herself  to 
a  similar  burst  of  filial  confidence,  I  unbound 
myself  instantly  from  her  dear  arms,  without 
pressing  her  towards  me,  without  kissing  her, 
and  said,  stammering  : 

"  I  beg  you,  Zanze,  never  to  embrace  me  ; 
it  is  not  well." 

She  fixed  her  eyes  upon  me,  cast  them  down, 
and  blushed  ;  and  certainly  it  was  the  first  time 
that  she  read  in  my  soul  the  possibility  of  any 
weakness  in  relation  to  her. 

She  did  not  cease  to  be  familiar  with  me, 
but  from  that  time  her  familiarity  became  more 
respectful,  more  in  accordance  with  my  wishes, 
and  I  was  grateful  to  her  for  it. 


MY    PRISONS.  109 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

I    CANXOT    speak    of   the    evils   which    afflict 
other  men  ;    but,  as  to  those  which  have    fallen 
to  my  lot  during  life  I  must  confess,  that,  after 
thorough     examination,    I    have    always    found 
them  ordered  for  my  good.     Yes,  even  that  hor- 
rible   heat  which    oppressed   me,    and   those  ar- 
mies of  gnats,  which  made  such  fierce  war  upon 
me.     A  thousand  times  I  have  reflected  upon  it. 
Had  I  not  been    in    such   a   state    of  perpetual 
torment,    constant    vigilance    would   have    been 
necessary  to  render  myself  invulnerable  to   the 
darts    of  love    which    threatened   me  ;    a   love, 
which  it  would  have    been  difficult    to    preserve 
sufficiently    respectful,    considering    how    lively 
and  affectionate  was  the  disposition  of  that  girl. 
If  I  sometimes  trembled  for  myself,  in  the  situ- 
ation in  which  I  was,  how  should  I  have   been 
able  to  govern   my   fancy   in   an   agreeable   at- 
mosphere, suited  to  enjoyment. 

Such  being  the  indiscretion  of  Zanze's  pa- 
rents, who  confided  so  much  in  me  ;  such  be- 
ing her  own  imprudence,  that  she  did  not  fore- 


110  MY    PRISONS. 

see  that  she  might  be  the  cause  of  culpable 
folly  in  me  ;  such  being  the  insecurity  of  my 
virtue,  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  suffocating 
heat  of  that  furnace,  and  the  cruel  gnats,  were 
salutary  circumstances. 

Such  thoughts  reconciled  me  somewhat  ta 
those  torments.     And  then  I  asked  myself: 

"  Wouldst  thou  be  free  from  them,  and  go 
to  a  good  room,  with  the  comfort  of  fresh  air, 
and  see  that  affectionate  creature  no  more  ?  " 

Shall  I  tell  the  truth  ?  I  had  not  the  cour- 
age to  answer  the  question. 

When  one  has  a  little  good  will  towards  an- 
other, the  pleasure  which  things  apparently  tri- 
fiinw  may  give  is  indescribable.  Often  a  word 
from  Zanze,  a  smile,  a  tear,  a  grace  of  her 
Venetian  dialect,  the  quick  motion  of  her  arm 
in  brushing  away  the  gnats  from  herself  and 
me  with  a  handkerchief  or  a  fan,  infused  a 
childish  pleasure  into  my  soul,  which  remained 
the  whole  day.  It  was  particularly  delightful 
to  me  to  find,  that  her  troubles  were  lessened 
by  talking  to  me,  that  my  pity  was  of  value  to 
her,  that  she  was  influenced  by  my  advice,  and 
that  her  heart  was  warmed,  when  we  spoke  of 
virtue  and  of  God. 


MY    PRISONS.  Ill 

"  When  we  have  been  talking  together  of 
religion,"  said  she,  "I  pray  more  readily,  and 
with  more  faith." 

And  sometimes,  breaking  off  suddenly  from 
a  frivolous  conversation,  she  took  the  Bible, 
opened  it,  kissed  a  verse  at  random,  and  then 
wished  that  I  would  translate  it  to  her,  and 
comment  upon  it.  And  she  said  :  "  I  wish  that 
every  time  you  read  over  that  verse,  you  would 
remember  that  I  have  imprinted  a  kiss  there," 
Her  kisses,  indeed,  did  not  always  fall  on  for- 
tunate places,  especially  if  she  chanced  to  open 
the  Song  of  Solomon.  Then,  that  I  might  not 
make  her  blush,  I  took  advantage  of  her  igno- 
rance of  Latin,  and  made  use  of  phrases,  in 
which  I  preserved  the  sanctity  of  the  holy  vol- 
ume and  her  purity  at  the  same  time,  both  of 
which  inspired  me  with  the  deepest  reverence. 
In  such  cases  I  never  allowed  myself  to  smile. 
It  was,  however,  no  small  embarrassment  to 
me,  when  sometimes,  not  well  understanding  my 
pseudo-version,  she  begged  me  to  translate  a 
passage  word  for  word,  and  would  not  lot  mc 
escape  to  another  subject. 


112  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

Nothing  here  below  is  lasting  !  Zanze  fell 
sick.  During  the  first  days  of  her  illness  she 
came  to  see  me,  and  complained  of  great  pain 
in  her  head.  She  wept,  and  did  not  explain  to» 
me  the  cause  of  her  tears.  She  only  stammer- 
ed some  complaint  against  her  lover.  "  He  is 
a  bad  man,"  said  she  ;  "  but  may  God  forgive 
him  !  " 

Although  I  entreated  her  to  open  her  heart 
to  me  as  she  was  accustomed  to  do,  I  could 
not    learn  what  made  her  so  unhappy. 

"  I  shall  return  to-morrow  mornino;,"  said 
she  one  evening.  But  the  following  day,  my 
coffee  was  brought  by  her  mother,  other  days 
by  the  secondini,  and  Zanze  was  seriously  ill. 

The  secondini  said  some  ambiguous  things 
about  this  girl's  love  affair,  which  made  my 
hair  stand  on  end.  A  seduction  "i  But  perhaps 
they  were  calumnies.  I  confess  that  I  gave 
credit  to  them,  and  was  greatly  troubled  by 
such  a  misfortune.  But  nevertheless  I  will  hope 
that  they  did  not  speak  the   truth. 


MY    PRISONS.  113 

After  more  than  a  month's  illness,  the  poor 
girl  was  carried  into  the  country,  and  I  saw 
her  no  more. 

I  cannot  describe  what  I  suffered  from  this 
loss.  Oh  !  how  much  more  horrible  my  solitude 
became.  The  thought  that  that  kind-hearted 
girl  was  unhappy,  was  a  hundred  times  more 
bitter  to  me  than  her  absence.  She  had  con- 
soled me  so  much  in  my  misery  by  her  gen- 
tle compassion,  and  now  my  compassion  was 
useless  to  her  !  But  surely  she  must  have  be- 
lieved, that  I  wept  for  her,  that  I  would  have 
made  no  small  sacrifice  to  procure  some  com- 
fort for  her,  had  it  been  possible,  ,and  that  I 
should  never  cease  to  bless  her,  and  to  pray 
for  her  happiness. 

While  Zanze  was  near  me,  her  visits,  though 
always  too  short,  by  breaking  delightfully  the 
monotony  of  my  perpetual  silent  meditation  and 
study,  by  interweaving  other  ideas  with  my  own, 
and  by  exciting  in  me  gentle  affections,  truly 
gave  a  charm  to  my  adversity,  and  a  double 
value  to  my  existence. 

Afterwards,  my  prison   became    again  like   a 
tomb.      I  was    for   many  days  so    oppressed    by 
sadness,  that  I  no  longer  found  the  least  plcas- 
8 


114  MY    PRISONS. 

ure  in  writing.  My  sadness  however  was  tran- 
quil, compared  with  the  violent  emotions  I  had 
formerly  experienced.  Was  it  that  I  had  now 
become  more  familiar  with  misfortune  ^  more 
philosophical  ?  more  Christian  ?  or  only  that  the 
suffocating  heat  of  my  room  had  deadened  my 
sensibility  to  suffering  ?  Alas  !  not  my  sensi- 
bility to  suffering.  I  recollect  that  I  suffered 
acutely  in  my  inmost  soul,  and  perhaps  more 
acutely,  because  I  had  no  will  to  express  what 
I  felt  by  cries  and  groans. 

Certainly  the  long  apprenticeship  I  had 
served  had  made  me  more  capable  of  enduring 
new  afflictions  with  resignation  to  the  will  of 
God.  I  had  so  often  said  to  myself,  //  is  mean- 
spirited  to  complain,  that  at  last  I  had  learned 
to  restrain  murmurs  just  ready  to  break  forth, 
and  was  ashamed  that  they  had  been  upon  my 
lips.  The  practice  of  writing  my  thoughts  liad 
contributed  to  invigorate  my  soul,  to  free  me 
from  vain  illusions,  and  to  bring  the  greater 
part  of  my  reasonings  to  these  conclusions  : 

There  is  a  God,  therefore  there  is  infallible 
justice  ;  then,  whatever  takes  place  is  ordered 
for  the  best  ;  consequently,  the  sufferings  of 
man   in  this  world  are  for  the  good  of  man. 

My  acquaintance  with  Zanze  had  also   been 


MY    PRISONS.  115 

useful  to  me  ;  it  had  softened  my  temper.     The 

pleasure  of  her  approbation  had  been  an  incen- 

> 
tive  to    me    not    to    fail    for    some    months   in    a 

duty,  which  I  considered  incumbent  upon  all 
men,  to  be  superior  to  fortune,  and  therefore 
patient.  And  some  months  of  perseverance  ha- 
bituated me  to  resignation. 

Zanze  saw  me  angry  only  twice.  Once  it 
was,  as  I  have  mentioned,  on  account  of  the 
bad  coffee  ;  the  other  occasion  was  as  follows. 

Every  two  or  three  weeks  a  letter  from  my 
family  was  brought  to  me  by  the  gaoler,  a  let- 
ter that  had  passed  first  through  the  hands  of 
the  commission,  and  in  which  passages  had  been 
completely  blotted  out.  One  day  it  happened, 
that,  instead  of  blotting  out  only  some  phrases, 
they  had  drawn  one  horrible  line  through  the 
whole  letter,  excepting  the  words  "  Dearest  Sil- 
vio," which  were  at  the  beginning,  and  the 
salutation  at  the  end  ;  "  We  all  heartily  embrace 
you." 

I  was  so  angry  at  this,  that  in  Zanze 's  pres- 
ence I  broke  forth  into  violent  outcries,  and 
cursed  I  knew  not  whom.  The  poor  girl  pitied 
me  ;  but  at  the  same  time  rebuked  me  for  my 
inconsistency  with  my  principles.  I  felt  that  she 
was  right,  and  I  refrained  from  cursing  any  one. 


116  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

One  day  a  secondino  entered  my  room  with 
a  mysterious  air,  and  said  to  me  : 

"  When  the  siora  Zanze  was  here  ...  as  the 
coffee  was  brought  by  her  .  .  .  and  she  stayed  a 
long  time  to  talk  ...  I  was  afraid  that  the  rogue 
found  out  all  your  secrets,   Signore  ..." 

"  No,  she  discovered  none,"  said  I,  angrily  ; 
"  if  I  had  any  secrets,  I  should  not  be  such  a 
simpleton  as  to  suffer  them  to  be  drawn  from 
me.     Go  on." 

"  Pardon  me  ;  I  do  not  say  that  you  are  a 
simpleton  ;  but  I  distrusted  the  siora  Zanze. 
And  now,  Signore,  that  you  have  no  longer  any 
one  that  comes  to  keep  you  company,  ...  I 
trust,  .  .  .  that ..." 

"What  ?     Explain  yourself  at  once." 
"But,  first,  swear  not  to  betray  me." 
"  As    for    swearing  not  to  betray  you,  that    I 
can  do  ;  I  have  never  betrayed  any  one." 
"Will  you  swear  so  then,  in  earnest  ?  " 
"  Yes,  I  swear  not  to  betray  you  ;  but  know, 
fool  that  you  are,  that   any  one  who  is  capable 


MY    PRISONS.  117 

of  betraying,  would  also  be  capable  of  breaking 
an  oath." 

He  drew  a  letter  from  his  pocket  and  gave 
it  to  me,  trembling  and  conjuring  me  to  destroy 
it,  when  I  had  read  it. 

"  Stop,"  said  I  to  him,  opening  it  ;  "as  soon 
as  I  have  read  it,  I  will  destroy  it  in  your 
presence." 

"  But,  Signore,  it  must  be  answered,  and  I 
cannot  wait.  Do  it  at  your  leisure.  Only  let 
us  have  an  understanding  together.  When  you 
hear  any  one  coming,  you  may  always  know 
whether  it  be  I  or  not,  by  my  singing  the  air, 
'  Sognai,  mi  gera  un  gato.' *  Then  you  need 
not  fear  being  surprised,  and  can  keep  any  pa- 
per in  your  pocket.  But  if  you  do  not  hear 
that  song,  it  will  be  a  sign,  either  that  it  is  not 
I,  or  that  some  one  is  with  me.  In  that  case, 
do  not  trust  to  keeping  any  paper  concealed, 
because  there  may  be  an  examination  ;  but  if 
you  should  have  one,  destroy  it  quickly,  and 
throw  it  out  of  the  window." 

"  Be  not  alarmed  :  I  see  that  you  are  cau- 
tious, and  I  will  be  so  likewise." 

*  I   dreamt  I   was  a  cat. 


118  MY    PRISONS. 

"Yet  you  have  called  me  a  fool." 
"You  do  well  to  reprove  me,"  said  I  to  him, 
pressing  his  hand.     "Forgive  me." 

He  then  went  out,  and  I  read  as  follows  : 
"  I  am  ..."  (and  here  followed  the  name) 
"  one  of  your  admirers.  I  know  the  whole  of 
your  Francesca  da  Rimini  by  heart.  I  was  ar- 
rested for  ..."  (and  here  he  told  the  cause  of 
his  arrest,  and  the  date  of  it),  "  and  I  would 
give  I  know  not  how  many  pounds  of  my  blood 
to  have  the  advantage  of  being  with  you,  or, 
at  least,  to  have  a  cell  contiguous  to  yours, 
so  that  we  might  converse  together.  Since  I 
understood  from  Tremerello  (so  we  will  call 
our  confidant),  that  you,  Signore,  were  arrest- 
ed, and  for  what  reason,  I  have  burnt  with 
desire  to  tell  you,  that  no  one  compassionates 
you  more  than  myself,  that  no  one  loves  you 
more  than  I  do.  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to 
accept  the  following  proposal,  namely,  that  we 
should  both  lighten  the  weight  of  our  solitude 
by  writing  to  each  other  ?  I  promise  you  as  a 
man  of  honor,  that  not  a  creature  in  the  world 
shall  ever  know  it  from  me,  persuaded,  that, 
should  you  accept   my   proposal,  I  may   expect 


MY    PRISONS.  119 

the  same  secrecy  from  you.     In  the  mean  time, 
that  you  may  have   some    knowledge    of  me,    I 
will  give  you  an  abstract   of  my   history,   &c." 
The  abstract  followed. 


120  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

Every  reader  who  has  a  little  huagination 
will  easily  conceive,  how  exciting  such  a  letter 
must  have  been  to  a  poor  prisoner,  particularly 
to  one  whose  disposition  was  by  no  means  un- 
social, and  whose  heart  was  affectionate.  My 
first  feeling  was  attachment  to  this  unknown 
individual,  pity  for  his  misfortunes,  and  grati- 
tude for  the  kindness  which  he  manifested  to- 
wards  me. 

"Yes,"  I  exclaimed,  "I  accept  your  propo- 
sal, generous  man  ;  may  my  letters  give  you 
as  much  comfort  as  yours  will  give  me,  as 
much  as  I   now  derive   from  your  first  !  " 

And  I  read  the  letter  over  and  over  again 
with  a  boyish  delight,  and  a  hundred  times 
blessed  the  writer  ;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
every  expression  revealed  a  sincere  and  noble 
soul. 

The  sun  was  setting  ;  it  was  my  hour  of 
prayer.  Oh  !  how  I  felt  the  presence  of  God, 
how  I  thanked  him  for  always  supplying  new 
means  to  prevent  the  powers  of  my  mind   and 


MY    PRISONS.  121 

heart  from  languishing  !     How  the  recollection 
of  all  his  precious  gifts  revived  within  me  ! 

I  stood  before  the  large  window,  my  arms 
between  the  bars,  and  my  hands  folded.  The 
church  of  St.  Mark  was  beneath  me,  a  prodi- 
gious multitude  of  wild  doves  were  hovering 
around  the  leaden  roof,  fluttering  and  building 
their  nests  ;  the  most  magnificent  sky  was  be- 
fore me.  I  overlooked  all  that  part  of  Venice 
which  was  visible  from  my  prison  ;  while  a  dis- 
tant sound  of  human  voices  fell  gently  upon 
my  ear.  From  this  unhappy,  but  wonderful 
place,  I  addressed  myself  to  Him,  who  alone 
saw  me  ;  to  Him  I  commended  my  father,  my 
mother,  and  all  who  were  dear  to  me,  one  by 
one,  and  it  seemed  as  if  He  replied  to  me  : 
"Put  thy  trust  in  my  goodness  !  " — and  I 
exclaimed,  "  Yes,  in  thy  goodness  do  I  put 
my  trust  !  " 

I  concluded  my  prayer,  softened  and  com- 
forted ;  caring  little  for  the  stings,  that  mean- 
while the  gnats  had  been  giving  me  at  their 
pleasure. 

In  the  evening,  after  so  much  exaltation,  my 
imagination  beginning  to  grow  calm,  the  gnats 
becoming   insufferable,    and  I  being  obliged,  as 


122  MY    PRISONS. 

usual,  to  wrap  up  my  face  and  hands,  a  vulgar 
and  malignant  thought  suddenly  entered  my 
mind,  which  made  me  shudder  ;  I  wished  to 
expel   it,   but    could  not. 

Tremerello  had  hinted  to  me  an  infamous 
suspicion  concerning  Zanze,  that  she  had  been 
a  spy  of  my  secrets,  —  she!  that  pure  soul! 
who  knew  nothing  of  politics  !  who  wished  to 
know  nothing  of  them  ! 

It  was  impossible  to  doubt  her  ;  but  I  asked 
myself,  "  Have  I  the  same  certainty  about  Tre- 
merello I  And  what,  if  that  knave  should  him- 
self be  a  spy  ?  What,  if  that  letter  should 
have  been  fabricated  by  some  unknown  indi- 
vidual, in  order  to  induce  me  to  make  impor- 
tant confidential  communications  to  one  appear- 
ing as  a  new  friend.  Perhaps  the  pretended 
prisoner  who  wrote  to  me  does  not  even  exist. 
Perhaps  there  is  such  an  individual,  and  he 
may  be  a  perfidious  wretch,  who  seeks  to  learn 
secrets,  in  order  that  he  may  purchase  his  own 
safety  by  betraying  them.  Perhaps  he  is  a 
worthy  man,  and  the  treachery  is  in  Treme- 
rello, who  would  ruin  us  both  in  order  to  gain 
an  addition  to  his  salary." 


MY    PRISONS.  123 

It  is  base,  but  only  too  natural,  for  one  who 
groans  in  a  prison,  to  fear  on  every  side  en- 
mity and  fraud. 

Such  suspicions  grieved  and  disheartened  me. 
I  could  never,  indeed,  admit  them  for  a  mo- 
ment with  regard  to  Zanze.  But  ever  since 
Tremerello  had  uttered  those  words  respecting 
her,  a  half  doubt  had  tormented  me,  not  of  her, 
but  of  those  who  had  allowed  her  to  come  to 
my  room.  Had  they,  through  their  own  zeal, 
or  the  direction  of  a  superior,  given  her  the 
task  of  a  spy  .•*  Oh  !  if  it  were  so,  how  ill 
they  had  been  served  ! 

"But  what,"  said  I  to  myself,  "is  to  be 
done  about  the  letter  from  the  unknown  .^  Shall 
I  conform  to  the  severe,  mean  counsels  of  that 
fear  which  is  called  prudence  ?  Shall  I  give 
the  letter  again  to  Tremerello,  and  tell  him, 
that  I  am  not  willing  to  run  any  risk  ?  And 
suppose  there  should  be  no  fraud  ?  Suppose 
that  the  unknown  should  be  a  man  worthy  of 
my  friendship,  worthy  that  I  should  risk  some- 
thing to  alleviate  the  anguish  of  his  solitude. 
Coward  !  thou  art  standing  perhaps  but  two 
steps  from  death,  the  fatal  sentence  may  any 
day  be  pronounced  ;    and   yet   thou  wouldst  re- 


124  MY    PRISONS. 

fuse  to  do  an  act  of  love.  I  ought,  —  I  ought 
indeed  to  reply.  But,  if  this  correspondence 
should  unfortunately  be  discovered,  even  though 
no  one  could  in  conscience  make  a  crime  of 
it  in  us,  yet  would  not  poor  Tremerello  be 
severely  punished  ?  Is  not  this  consideration 
sufficient  to  make  it  my  absolute  duty  not  to 
engage  in  it  ?  " 


31 Y    PRISONS.  125 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

I  WAS  agitated  all  the  evening,  I  did  not 
close  my  eyes  through  the  night,  and  amidst  so 
much  uncertainty  I  knew  not  what  to  deter- 
mine. 

I  sprung  from  my  bed  before  dawn,  raised 
myself  to  the  window,  and  prayed.  In  difHcult 
cases,  we  must  lay  our  doubts  before  God, 
listen  to  His  inspirations,  and  follow  them. 

This  I  did,  and  after  a  long  prayer  I  came 
down,  shook  off  the  gnats,  rubbed  my  bitten 
cheeks  with  my  hand,  and  my  determination 
was  made.  It  was  to  express  to  Tremerello 
my  apprehension,  that  he  miglit  suffer  in  con- 
sequence of  this  correspondence,  to  give  it  up 
if  he  wavered,  and  to  proceed  in  it  if  his  fears 
did  not  overcome  him. 

I  walked  about  my  room  until  I  heard  him 
singing  ;  "  Sognai,  mi  gera  un  g(ito,  E  ti  mi 
carezzevi."  *     Tremerello  brought  my  coffee. 

I  told   him  my  scruples,  not  sparing  a  word 

*  I  dreamt  I  was  a  cat,  and  you  caressed  me. 


126  MY    PRISONS. 

that  might  excite  his  fear.  I  found  him  firm 
in  the  desire  to  serve,  as  he  said,  tivo  such  per- 
fect gentlemen.  This  was  quite  at  variance  with 
his  timid  look,  and  with  the  name  of  Treme- 
rello,  which  we  had  given  him.  Accordingly  I 
was  firm  also. 

"  I  will  leave  you  my  wine,"  said  I,  "  and 
do  you  supply  me  with  paper  necessary  for  this 
correspondence  ;  and  trust  me,  that  if  I  hear 
the  sound  of  the  keys  without  your  song,  I  will 
always  instantly  destroy  every  thing  clandes- 
tine." 

"  Here  is  one  sheet  of  paper  ready  ;  I  will 
give  you  more  as  long  as  you  wish,  and  I  trust 
entirely  to  your  circumspection." 

I  burnt  my  mouth  by  swallowing  my  coffee 
too  hastily,  Tremerello  retired,  and  I  sat  down 
to  write. 

Was  I  doing  well  ?  Was  the  determination 
I  had  made,  truly  inspired  by  God  ?  Was  it 
not  rather  a  triumph  of  my  natural  boldness  ; 
a  preference  of  what  pleased  me,  to  painful  sac- 
rifices ;  a  mixture  of  proud  satisfaction  in  the 
esteem  which  had  been  expressed  for  me  by 
the  unknown,   and  of  the  fear  of  appearing  pu- 


MY    PRISONS.  127 

sillanimous,   if  I   preferred   prudent   silence  to  a 
somewhat  hazardous  correspondence  ? 

How  were  these  doubts  to  be  solved  ?  I 
frankly  expressed  them  in  replying  to  my  fellow 
captive,  and  added,  that  it  was  nevertheless  my 
opinion,  that  when  it  seems  to  any  one,  that  he 
is  acting  from  proper  motives,  without  a  mani- 
fest repugnance  of  conscience,  he  ought  not  to 
fear  that  he  is  committing  a  fault.  I  begged 
him,  however,  to  reflect  with  all  seriousness 
upon  what  we  had  undertaken,  and  to  tell  me 
candidly  with  what  degree  of  tranquillity  or  un- 
easiness he  had  determined  upon  it.  "If,"  said 
I,  "  in  consequence  of  new  reflections  you  judge 
the  enterprise  too  rash,  let  us  make  the  effort 
to  give  up  the  solace,  which  this  correspondence 
promises  us,  and  content  ourselves  with  being 
known  to  each  other  by  the  exchange  of  a  few 
words,  indelible  pledges  of  strong  attachment." 

I  wrote  four  pages  glowing  with  the  most 
sincere  affection,  briefly  hinted  at  the  cause  of 
my  imjjrisonment,  spoke  with  expressions  of 
deep  feeling  of  my  family  and  some  of  my  in- 
timate friends,  and  aimed  to  make  myself  known 
to  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 


128  MY    PRISONS. 

In  the  evening  my  letter  was  carried.  Not 
having  slept  the  preceding  night,  I  was  very 
weary  ;  sleep  did  not  require  to  be  invoked, 
and  I  awoke  the  following  morning  refreshed 
and  cheerful,  my  heart  throbbing  at  the  thought, 
that  I  should  perhaps  in  a  few  moments  have 
an  answer  from  my  friend. 


MY    PRISONS.  129 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

The  answer  came  with  my  coffee.  I  sprung 
upon  Tremei-ello's  neck,  and  said  to  him  with 
emotion,  "  May  God  reward  you  for  so  much 
kindness  ! "  My  suspicions  of  him  and  of  the 
unknown  were  dissipated,  yet  I  cannot  tell 
why  ;  perhaps  because  they  were  odious  to  me  ; 
or  because,  being  cautious  never  to  speak  fool- 
ishly of  politics,  they  appeared  to  me  useless  ; 
or  because,  though  an  admirer  of  the  genius 
of  Tacitus,  I  nevertheless  have  no  faith  in  the 
propriety  of  looking,  like  Tacitus,  on  the  dark 
side  of  every  thing. 

Julian  (so  my  correspondent  chose  to  sign 
himself)  began  his  letter  with  a  polite  pream- 
ble, and  said  he  was  without  any  uneasiness 
about  our  correspondence.  Then  he  rallied  me 
upon  my  hesitation,  at  first  gently,  but  with 
more  sharpness  as  he  went  on.  At  last,  after 
an  eloquent  eulogy  upon  sincerity,  he  asked 
my  pardon  if  ho  could  not  conceal  the  i-egret 
he  had  felt  in  consequence  of  perceiving  in 
me,  as  he  .said,  "  a  certain  scrupulous  wavering, 
9 


130  MY    PRISONS. 

a   certain    Christian   subtilty   of  conscience,  ivliich 
did  not  harmonize  ivith  true  'philosophy." 

"  I  shall  always  esteem  you,"  he  added, 
"  even  if  we  cannot  agree  about  this  ;  but  the 
sincerity  which  I  profess  obliges  me  to  tell  you, 
that  I  have  no  religion,  that  I  abhor  it  alto- 
gether, that  through  modesty  I  take  the  name 
of  Julian,  because  that  good  emperor  was  an 
enemy  of  the  Christians  ;  but  in  reality  I  go 
much  further  than  he  did.  The  crowned  Julian 
believed  in  God,  and  he  was  not  without  cer- 
tain bigotries  of  his  own.  I  have  none.  I  do 
not  believe  in  God  ;  I  regard  all  virtue  as  con- 
sisting in  the  love  of  truth  and  of  him  who 
seeks  it,  and  in  hating  him  who  does  not  please 
me." 

He  went  on  in  the  same  manner.  He  brought 
no  reasons  for  any  thing,  but  inveighed  vehe- 
mently against  Christianity,  praised,  with  pom- 
pous energy,  the  sublimity  of  virtue  without 
religion,  and  undertook,  in  a  style  partly  serious 
and  partly  jocose,  to  make  a  eulogy  upon  the 
Emperor  Julian  for  his  apostasy,  and  for  his 
jihilanthropic  attempt  to  efface  from  the  earth 
every  trace  of  the  Gospel. 

Then,    fearing   he  had   shocked   my -opinions 


3IY    PRISONS.  131 


too  much,  he  again  asked  my  pardon,  and  de- 
claimed against  the  common  want  of  sincerity. 
He  repeated  his  very  great  desire  to  continue 
his  connexion  with  me,  and  then  concluded. 

In  a  postscript,  he  said  :  "  My  only  appre- 
hension is,  that  I  may  not  be  sufficiently  sin- 
cere. I  cannot  therefore  suppress  the  suspi- 
cion, tlict  the  Christian  language  you  make  use 
of  to  mc  may  be  assumed.  I  earnestly  de- 
sire that  it  may  be  z^,.  In  that  case,  throw  off 
the   ma=k  ;   I  have  sot  you   the   example." 

I  cannot  describe  the  strange  effect  this  letter 
had  upon  me.  When  I  began  to  read,  my 
heart  beat  like  that  of  a  lover  ;  then  a  hand 
of  ice  seemed  to  press  upon  it.  The  sarcasms 
upon  my  conscientiousness  offended  me.  I  re- 
pented of  having  formed  any  connexion  with 
such  a  man  ;  —  I,  who  despise  cynicism  so 
much  !  who  believe  all  its  tendencies  to  be  most 
unphilosophical,  most  base  !  who  am  so  little  to 
be  imposed  upon  by  arrogance  ! 

Having  read  it  through,  I  took  the  letter  be- 
tween the  thumb  and  finger  of  one  hand,  and 
the  thumb  and  finger  of  the  other,  and  raising 
my  left  hand,  drew  down  the  right  rapidly,  so 
that  each  of  my  hands  remained  in  possession 
of  half  the  letter. 


132  MY    PRISONS 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

I  LOOKED  at  those  two  pieces,  and  meditated 
a  moment  upon  the  inconstancy  of  human  things 
and  their  false  appearances.  "  But  a  short 
time  ao-o  how  much  I  desired  this  letter,  and 
now  I  tear  it  with  indignation  !  But  a  short 
time  ago  what  a  presentiment  I  felt  of  future 
friendship  with  this  companion  in  misfortune  ; 
what  a  persuasion  of  mutual  comfort  ;  what  a 
disposition  to  manifest  towards  him  the  greatest 
affection  5  and  now  I  call  him  insolent  !  " 

I  put  the  pieces  one  upon  the  other,  and  tore 
them  as  before.  I  was  about  to  repeat  the 
same  operation,  but  one  of  the  four  pieces  fell 
to  the  floor  ;  I  stooped  to  take  it  up,  and,  in 
the  short  space  of  time  while  I  was  stooping 
and  rising,  I  changed  my  determination,  and 
was  disposed  to  read  this  vainglorious  compo- 
sition again. 

I  sat  down,  fitted  the  four  pieces  together 
upon  my  Bible,  and  again  read  the  letter.  I 
left  it  in  this  state,  walked  about,  read  it  once 
more,  and  meanwhile  I  thought  thus  : 


MY    PRISONS.  133 

"  If  I  do  not  reply  to  him,  he  will  con- 
clude, that  I  am  overwhelmed  with  confusion, 
that  I  dare  not  appear  again  in  the  presence  of 
such  a  Hercules.  Let  me  answer  him  ;  let  me 
make  him  see,  that  I  fear  not  to  confront  my 
doctrines  with  his.  Let  me  show  him  in  a 
suitable  manner,  that  there  is  no  meanness  in 
judging  deliberately  ;  in  hesitating  concerning 
a  resolution  somewhat  hazardous,  and  hazard- 
ous for  others  rather  than  for  ourselves.  Let 
him  learn,  that  true  courage  consists  not  in 
laughing  at  conscience  ;  that  true  dignity  con- 
sists not  in  pride.  Let  me  unfold  to  him  the 
reasonableness  of  Christianity  and  the  insuffi- 
ciency of  unbelief  — And  after  all,  if  this  Julian 
expresses  opinions  so  opposite  to  my  own  ;  if 
he  docs  not  spare  me  his  bitter  sarcasms  ;  if 
he  desires  so  little  to  conciliate  me,  is  it  not 
at  least  a  proof  that  he  is  not  a  spy  ? — But 
may  not  his  thus  rudely  wounding  my  self-love 
be  a  refinement  of  art  ?  —  No,  I  cannot  believe 
it.  It  is  ill-natured  in  me,  because  I  feel 
offended  by  those  ihconsidcratc  jokes,  to  wish 
to  persuade  myself,  that  he  who  uttered  them 
must  be  the  most  worthless  of  men.  Vulgar 
malignity,  which  I  have   a  thousand  times  con- 


134  MY    PRISONS. 

demned  in  others,  away  from  my  own  heart ! 
No,  Julian  is  what  he  is,  and  nothing  more  ; 
he  is  insolent,  but  he  is  not  a  spy. — And  have 
I  in  truth  the  right  to  give  the  odious  name 
of  insolence  to  what  he  considers  as  sincerity  ?  — 
This  is  your  humility,  O  hypocrite  !  It  is  enough 
that  one  through  an  error  of  the  understand- 
ing should  maintain  false  opinions,  and  deride 
your  faith,  for  you  immediately  to  arrogate  to 
yourself  the  right  of  despising  him. — God  knows 
if  this  fierce  humility  and  this  malevolent  zeal, 
in  the  breast  of  me,  a  Christian,  are  not  worse 
than  the  audacious  sincerity  of  that  unbeliev- 
er! —  Perhaps  nothing  is  wanting  but  a  ray  of 
grace,  to  change  his  strong  love  of  truth  into 
a  religion  firmer  than  my  own.  —  Should  I  not 
do  better  to  pray  for  him,  than  to  be  angry 
with  him,  and  to  suppose  myself  better  than 
he  ?  —  Perhaps,  while  I  was  furiously  tearing  his 
letter,  he  may  have  been  reading  mine  again 
with  affectionate  tenderness,  and  have  trusted 
so  much  in  my  goodness,  as  to  believe  me 
incapable  of  being  offended  by  the  frankness  of 
his  expressions.  —  Which  is  the  most  sinful,  one 
who  loves,  and  says  '  I  am  not  a  Christian,'  or 
one  who  says,  '  I  am  a  Christian,'  and  does  not 


MY    PRISONS.  135 

love  ?  —  It  is  difficult  to  know  a  man's  charac- 
ter after  having  lived  with  him  many  years, 
and  now  I  am  ready  to  judge  this  man  by  a 
single  letter  !  Among  so  many  possibilities,  is 
it  not  supposable,  that,  without  confessing  it 
even  to  himself,  he  may  not  be  quite  satisfied 
with  his  atheism,  and  therefore  may  wish  to 
excite  me  to  oppose  it,  with  the  secret  hope 
of  being  obliged  to  yield  ?  Oh  !  may  it  be 
thus  !  Great  God,  in  whose  hand  all  instru- 
ments, even  the  most  unworthy,  may  be  ef- 
ficacious, choose  me,  oh  !  choose  me  for  this 
work  !  Impart  to  me  such  powerful  and  holy 
arguments  as  may  convince  that  unhappy  man  ; 
such  as  may  lead  him  to  bless  thee,  and  to 
learn,  that  distant  from  thee  there  is  no  virtue 
which  is  not  a  contradiction  !  "' 


136  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

I  TORE  into  smaller  pieces,  but  without  any 
remains  of  anger,  the  four  parts  of  the  letter  ; 
I  went  to  the  window,  stretched  out  my  hand, 
and  stopped  to  observe  the  fate  of  the  differ- 
ent fragments,  which  became  the  sport  of  the 
wind.  Some  rested  upon  the  roof  of  the  church, 
others  flew  about  a  long  time  in  the  air,  and 
then  fell  to  the  ground.  I  saw  that  they  were 
so  scattered,  that  there  was  no  danger  that  any 
one  could  collect  them,  and  discover  their  se- 
crets. 

I  then  wrote  to  Julian,  and  took  great  care 
not  to  be,  and  not  to  appear,  offended. 

I  jested  at  his  apprehension,  that  I  carried 
my  scruples  of  conscience  to  a  point  which 
did  not  accord  with  true  philosophy,  and  told 
him,  that  he  ought  at  least  to  suspend  his  judg- 
ment about  it.  I  praised  his  profession  of 
sincerity,  assured  him  that  he  would  find  me 
equally  sincere  with  himself,  and  added,  that, 
in  order  to  give  him  a  proof  of  it,  I  was  pre- 
paring to  defend  Christianity  ;  "well  persuaded," 


MY    PRISONS.  137 

said  I,  "that,  as  I  shall  always  be  ready  to  listen 
in  a  friendly  manner  to  your  opinions,  so  you 
will  have  the  liberality  to  listen  patiently  to 
mine." 

This  defence  I  proposed  to  make  in  succes- 
sive parts,  and  I  began  at  once  by  faithfully 
analyzing  the  spirit  of  Christianity,  as  consist- 
ing in  the  wox'ship  of  God  without  supersti- 
tion, —  brotherly  love  among  men,  —  perpetual 
aspirations  after  virtue,  —  humility  without  mean- 
ness,—  dignity  without  pride,  —  the  model  for 
imitation  being  the  God-man  !  What  can  be 
more  philosophical  and  more  sublime  ? 

My  next  purpose  was,  to  show  how  such 
wisdom  had  been  more  or  less  imparted  to  all 
those  who  had  sought  the  truth  by  the  light  of 
reason  ;  but  that  it  was  never  universally  dif- 
fused ;  and  how  our  divine  Master,  having  ap- 
peared upon  earth,  manifested  himself  in  a 
most  striking  manner,  by  effecting  this  diffusion 
through  the  weakest  human  means.  What  the 
greatest  philosophers  could  never  achieve,  the 
overthrow  of  idolatry,  and  the  general  preach- 
ing of  brotherly  love,  was  accomplished  by  a 
few  uneducated  messengers.  Then  the  eman- 
cipation   of    slaves    became     every    day    more 


138  MY    PRISONS. 

frequent ;  and  at  last  there  appeared  a  form  of 
civilized  life  without  slavery,  a  state  of  society 
which  to  the  ancient  philosophers  had  seemed 
impossible. 

In  the  last  place,  I  gave  a  review  of  history 
from  Jesus  Christ  to  the  present  time,  in  order 
to  show,  how  the  religion  established  by  him 
had  been  always  found  adapted  to  every  pos- 
sible stage  of  civilization  ;  and  hence  concluded 
the  opinion  to  be  false,  that,  as  civilization  con- 
tinues to  advance,  the  Gospel  will  no  longer  be 
iu  accordance  with  it. 

I  wrote  in  a  very  small  hand,  and  a  very 
long  letter  ;  but  I  was  unable  to  proceed  much 
further  :  my  paper  failed.  I  read  my  introduc- 
tion over  and  over  again,  and  it  appeared  to 
me  well  done.  There  was  not  a  word  of  re- 
sentment for  Julian's  sarcasms  ;  expressions  of 
kindness  abounded,  and  they  were  uttered  from 
my  heart,  which  had  now  entirely  i-ecovered  its 
tolerance. 

I  sent  my  letter,  and  the   following   morning 
expected  the  answer  with  anxiety. 

Tremerello  came,  and  said  ; 

"  That  gentleman  has  not  been  able  to  write  ; 
but  he  begs  you  to  continue  your  joke." 


MY    PRISONS.  139 

"Joke  ?  "  I  exclaimed.  "He  could  not  have 
called  it  a  joke  !  you  must  have  misunderstood 
him." 

Tremerello  shrugged  his  shoulders  :  "  I  must 
have  misunderstood  him." 

"  But  do  you  really  think  he  called  it  a 
joke  r  " 

"  Just  as  I  think  I  hear  the  stroke  of  St. 
Mark's  at  this  moment."  (The  great  bell  sound- 
ed at  the  instant.)  I  drank  my  coffee,  and  was 
silent. 

"  But  tell  me  :  had  that  gentleman  read  the 
whole  of  my  letter  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so  ;  because  he  laughed,  as  if  he 
were  out  of  his  senses,  and  he  made  the  letter 
into  a  ball,  and  tossed  it  up  in  the  air,  and 
when  I  told  him  that  he  must  not  forget  to 
destroy  it,  he  did  destroy  it  immediately." 

"Very  well." 

And  I  returned  the  cup  to  Tremerello,  say- 
ing, that  it  was  plain  that  the  coffee  had  been 
made  by  Siora  Bettina. 

"  Have  you  found  it  bad  .-*  " 

"Wretched." 

"  I  made  it  however,  and  I  assure  you  I  made 
it  strong,  and  there  arc  no  grounds." 

"Perhaps  my  mouth  is  out  of  taste." 


140  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

I  WALKED  about  the  whole  morning  in  a  state 
of  irritation.  "  What  sort  of  fellow  must  this 
Julian  be  ?  Why  does  he  call  my  letter  a 
joke  ?  Why  does  he  laugh  and  play  at  ball 
with  it  ?  Why  does  he  not  give  me  even  a 
line  in  reply  ?  All  unbelievers  are  alike.  Feel- 
ing the  weakness  of  their  cause,  if  any  one 
undertakes  to  confute  them,  they  do  not  listen, 
they  laugh,  and  assume  an  air  of  superior  gen- 
ius, as  if  they  had  no  need  to  examine  any 
thing.  Unhappy  men  !  When  was  there  any 
philosophy  without  examination,  without  serious- 
ness ?  If  it  is  true  that  Democritus  always 
laughed,  he  was  a  buffoon.  —  But  what  else 
could  I  expect  ?  Why  did  I  undertake  this 
correspondence  ?  That  I  should  have  deluded 
myself  for  a  moment  was  pardonable  ;  but  when 
I  perceived  that  he  was  insolent,  was  I  not  a 
fool   to  write  to  him  again  ?  " 

I  resolved  to  write  to  him  no  more.  At  din- 
ner Tremerello  took  my  wine,  poured  it  into  a 
bottle,  and  putting  it  into  his  pocket  said,  "  Oh ! 


MY    PRISONS.  141 

I  recollect  that  I  have  some  paper  here  for 
you."     And  he  gave  it  to  me. 

He  went  out,  and  as  I  looked  at  that  blank 
paper,  I  felt  a  temptation  to  write  for  the  last 
time  to  Julian,  and  to  take  leave  of  him  with 
a  good  lesson  upon  the  baseness  of  insolence. 

"A  fine  temptation!"  I  afterwards  said  to 
myself,  "  to  requite  scorn  for  scorn  !  to  make 
him  hate  Christianity  yet  more,  by  exhibiting 
to  him  impatience  and  pride  in  myself,  a  Chris- 
tian !  —  No,  that  will  not  do  ;  let  the  corre- 
spondence entirely  cease. — And  if  I  break  it 
off  so  abruptly,  will  he  not  be  as  likely  to  say, 
that  impatience  and  pride  have  conquered  me  r 
—  It  is  proper  that  I  should  write  to  him  once 
more,  and  without  ill  temper. — But  if  I  can 
write  without  ill  temper,  would  it  not  be  better 
to  give  no  intimation  that  I  have  been  told  of 
his  derision,  and  that  he  has  been  pleased  to 
call  my  letter  a  joke  .?  Would  it  not  be  better 
to  continue  my  apology  for  Christianity  .'  " 

I  thought  a  little  while,  and  then  determined 
to  do  so. 

In  the  evening  I  despatched  my  packet,  and 
the  following  morning  received  some  lines,  thank- 
ing me  in  the  coldest  terms,   free  indeed   from 


142  MY    PRISONS. 

any  sarcastic  expressions,  but  at  the  same  time 
without  the  slightest  token  of  approbation,  or  of 
a  desire  that  I  should  go   on. 

This  note  displeased  me  ;  nevertheless  I  de- 
termined not  to  desist  from  my  purpose. 

My  theme  could  not  be  treated  briefly,  and 
was  the  subject  of  five  or  six  other  long  let- 
ters ;  to  each  one  of  which  came  an  answer 
of  thanks  laconically  expressed,  accompanied 
by  some  declamation  foreign  to  the  subject  ; 
sometimes  cursing  his  enemies,  sometimes  laugh- 
ing at  himself  for  having  cursed  them,  and  say- 
ing that  it  was  natural  that  the  strong  should 
oppress  the  weak,  and  that  he  regretted  only 
that  he  was  not  among  the  strong  ;  and  some- 
times confiding  his  love  aflairs  to  me,  and  the 
control  that  these  exercised  over  his  tormented 
imagination. 

However,  to  my  last  letter  upon  Christianity 
he  said  that  he  was  preparing  a  long  answer. 
I  expected  it  for  more  than  a  week,  and  in  the 
mean  time  he  wrote  to  me  every  day  about 
other  things,  and  most  frequently  upon  indecent 
topics. 

I  begged  him  to  recollect  the  answer  which 
he  owed   me,   and  I  advised  him   to   determine 


MY    PRISONS.  143 

to    apply   his   mind   to   weigh    carefully    all   the 
arguments  I  had  made  use  of. 

He  answered  me  somewhat  angrily,  lavish- 
ing upon  himself  the  titles  of  a  philosopher,  of 
a  man  of  strong  mind,  one  who  had  no  need  to 
think  so  very  much  in  order  to  perceive  that  a 
fire-fly  was  not  a  lantern;  *  —  he  then  turned 
from  the  subject,  to  speak  gayly  of  scandalous 
adventures. 


*  Referring  to  the  Italian  proverb ;  Mostrur  lucciole  per 
lanterne,  "  To  show  fire-flies  for  lanterns,"  that  is,  to  make 
one  believe  a  thing  to  be  different  from  what  it  is. 


144  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    XL. 

I  WAS  patient,  because  I  would  not  give  him 
a  pretence  to  call  me  bigoted  and  intolerant, 
and  because  I  did  not  despair,  that,  after  this 
fever  of  dissolute  buffoonery,  a  period  of  se- 
riousness would  arrive.  In  the  mean  time  I 
expressed  to  him  my  disapprobation  of  his  ir- 
reverence towards  women,  and  of  his  abomi- 
nable conduct  in  love  affairs,  and  my  compas- 
sion for  those  unhappy  beings,  who,  he  told  me, 
had  been  his  victims. 

He  pretended  to  have  but  little  faith  in  the 
sincerity  of  my  disapprobation,  and  repeated  : 
"  However  you  may  grumhle  about  immorality,  I 
am  certain  that  I  divert  you  by  my  narratives  ;  — 
all  men  love  pleasure  as  I  do  ;  but  they  have  not 
the  frankness  to  speak  of  it  ivithout  disguise.  I 
ivill  tell  you  such  slo7'ies  as  shall  enchant  you,  and 
you  will  feel  obliged  in  conscience  to  applaud  me." 

From  Vv'eek  to  week,  he  never  desisted  from 
this  infamous  manner  of  writing,  and  I  (al- 
ways hoping  to  find  in  every  letter  another 
subject,    and   suffering   myself  to  be   drawn   on 


MY    PRISONS.  145 

by  curiosity)  read  the  whole  ;  and  my  mind 
was,  not  indeed  perverted,  but  yet  disturbed, 
removed  from  noble  and  holy  thoughts.  Inter- 
course with  degraded  men  degrades  ;  unless 
one  has  much  more  than  common  virtue,  much 
more  than  mine. 

"Thus  are  you  punished,"  said  I  to  myself, 
"  for  your  presumption  !  This  is  what  one 
gains  by  wishing  to  be  a  missionary,  without 
the  requisite  holiness  !  " 

One  day  I  resolved  to  write  to  him  as  follows : 
"  I  have  hitherto  done  all  in  my  power  to 
call  your  attention  to  other  topics  ;  but  you 
continue  to  send  me  tales,  which,  as  I  told 
you  frankly,  displease  me.  If  an  exchange  of 
thoughts  upon  more  worthy  subjects  will  be 
agreeable  to  you,  we  will  continue  the  corre- 
spondence ;  otherwise  let  us  shake  hands,  and 
each  remain  by  himself" 

I  was  two  days  without  an  answer  ;  and  a( 
first  rejoiced  at  it.  "Blessed  solitude  !"  I  ex- 
claimed, "how  much  less  bitter  art  thou,  than  a 
discordant  and  debasing  intercourse  !  Instead 
of  tormenting  myself  by  reading  his  immodest 
language,  instead  of  vainly  fatiguing  myself  to 
oppose  to  it  the  expression  of  those  aspira- 
10 


146  MY    PRISONS. 

tions  that  honor  humanity,  I  shall  return  to 
hold  converse  with  God,  and  with  the  dear 
recollections  of  my  family  and  my  true  friends, 
I  shall  again  read  the  Bible  much  more,  I 
shall  write  my  thoughts  upon  the  table,  study- 
ing the  bottom  of  my  heart  and  endeavouring 
to  improve  it,  and  shall  taste  the  sweetness  of 
an  innocent  melancholy,  a  thousand  times  pre- 
ferable to  gay  and  sinful  imaginations." 

Every  time  that  Tremerello  entered  my  cell, 
he   said,   "I  have  no   answer  yet." 

"  It  is  very  well,"  I  replied. 

The  third  day  he  said  to  me  ;  "  Signer  N.  N. 
is  somewhat  ill." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  him  ^  " 

"  He  does  not  say  ;  but  he  is  always  stretch- 
ed upon  his  bed  ;  he  neither  eats  nor  drinks, 
and  he  is  ill-humored." 

I  was  moved  at  the  thought,  that  he  suffered, 
and  had  no  one  to  comfort  him. 

The  words  escaped  from  my  lips,  or  rather 
from  my  heart  ;  "I  will  write  a  few  lines  to 
him." 

"  I  will  carry  them  to  him  this  evening,"  said 
Tremerello,  and  he  went  out. 


MY    PRISONS.  147 

I  felt  somewhat  embarrassed  as  I  placed  my- 
self at  the  table.  "  Am  I  right  in  resuming 
our  correspondence  ?  Did  I  not  just  now 
bless  solitude  as  a  recovered  treasure  ?  What 
inconsistency  then  is  mine  ? — Yet  that  unhappy 
man  neither  eats  nor  drinks  ;  surely  he  must 
be  ill.  Is  this  the  moment  to  abandon  him  ? 
My  last  note  was  harsh  ;  it  may  have  contribut- 
ed to  afflict  him.  Perhaps,  in  spite  of  our  dif- 
ferent modes  of  thinking,  he  never  would  have 
dissolved  our  friendship.  My  note  may  have 
appeared  to  him  more  unkind  than  it  was,  and 
he  may  have  considered  me  as  taking  leave  of 
him,  finally  and  contemptuously." 


148  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    XLI. 

I  WROTE  thus  : 

"  I  hear  that  you  are  not  well,  and  I  am 
very  sorry  for  it.  I  wish  with  all  my  heart 
that  I  were  near  you,  and  could  perform  for 
you  all  the  offices  of  a  friend.  I  hope  that 
your  ill  health  has  heen  the  only  cause  of 
your  silence  for  the  last  three  days.  Could 
you  have  been  offended  at  my  note  the  other 
day  ?  I  wi'ote  it,  I  assure  you,  without  the 
least  ill-will,  and  with  the  simple  design  of 
leading  you  to  more  serious  subjects  of  reflec- 
tion. If  writing  is  injurious  to  you,  only  send 
me  exact  news  of  your  health,  I  will  write 
evex'y  day  some  trifle  to  amuse  you,  and  to  re- 
mind you  that  I  wish  you  well." 

I  could  never  have  anticipated  the  letter 
which  he  sent  me  in  reply.  It  began  thus  : 
"  I  renounce  your  friendship.  If  you  do  not 
want  mine,  I  do  not  want  yours.  I  am  not  one 
who  pardons  offences  ;  once  rejected,  I  do  not 
return.  Because  you  know  that  I  am  ill,  you 
hypocritically  address  me  again,  hoping  that  ill- 


MY    PRISONS.  149 

ness  may  have  Aveakened  my  mind,  and  may 
induce  me  to  listen  to  your  preaching."  .  .  . 
And  he  went  on  in  this  manner,  reproaching 
me  violently,  ridiculing  me,  caricaturing  all  that 
I  had  said  of  religion  and  morals,  protesting 
that  he  would  live  and  die  always  the  same, 
that  is,  with  the  greatest  hatred  and  the  great- 
est contempt  for  all  philosophy  different  from 
his  own. 

I  was  confounded  ! 

"  Fine  conversions  I  make  !  "  said  I,  sorrow- 
ful and  shocked.  "  God  is  my  witness  that  my 
intentions  were  pure  !  —  No,  I  have  not  de- 
served these  insults  !  —  But  patience  !  I  am 
but  undeceived  once  more.  It  is  the  worse 
for  him,  if  he  imagines  himself  to  be  offended, 
that  he  may  enjoy  the  luxury  of  withholding 
his  forgiveness  !  I  am  not  obliged  to  do  more 
than  I  have  done." 

Nevertheless,  after  a  few  days  my  anger 
abated,  and  I  thought  that  his  crazy  letter 
might  have  been  the  result  of  a  transient  ex- 
citement. "  Perhaps  he  is  already  ashamed  of 
it,"  said  I  ;  "  but  is  too  proud  to  confess  his 
fault.       Would   it  not   be   a  generous    act,    now 


150  MY    PRISONS. 

that  he  has  had  time  to  become  calm,  to  write 
to  him  again  ?  " 

It  cost  me  much  to  make  such  a  sacrifice 
of  self-love  ;  but  I  made  it.  He  who  humbles 
himself  for  no  mean  end  is  not  degraded,  what- 
ever unjust  contempt  may  fall  upon  him. 

I  received  for  answer  a  letter  less  violent, 
but  not  less  insulting.  The  implacable  man 
told  me  that  he  admired  my  evangelical  mod- 
eration. 

"  Now  then,"  pursued  he,  "  we  will  resume 
our  correspondence  ;  but  let  us  speak  plainly. 
We  do  not  love  each  other.  Let  us  each  write 
to  amuse  himself,  putting  freely  upon  paper  all 
that  comes  into  his  head  ;  you,  your  seraphic 
imaginations,  and  I,  my  blasphemies  ;  you,  your 
ecstasies  upon  the  dignity  of  man  and  woman, 
I,  the  ingenuous  narratives  of  my  abominations  5 
I,  hoping  to  convert  you,  and  you,  to  convert 
me.  Answer  me,  should  the  proposal  please 
you." 

I  replied  5  "  Yours  is  not  a  proposal,  but 
a  mockery.  I  have  shown  abundant  good-will 
towards  you.  My  conscience  requires  nothing 
more  of  me  but  to  wish  you  all  happiness  in 
this  life  and  in  the  next." 


MY    PRISONS.  151 

Thus  ended  my  clandestine  intercourse  with 
that  man.  He  was  perhaps  (who  can  tell  ?) 
one  exasperated  by  misfortune  and  crazed  by 
despair,  rather  than  absolutely  wicked. 


152  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    XLII. 

Once  more  I  earnestly  blessed  solitude,  and 
my  days  again  passed  for  some  time  without 
any  adventure. 

The  summer  ended  ;  during  the  last  half  of 
September  the  heat  diminished.  October  came, 
and  I  then  rejoiced  in  having  a  room  which 
would  be  comfortable  in  winter.  But  one  morn- 
ing the  gaoler  told  me  that  he  had  orders  to 
change  my  cell. 

"And  where  am  I  to  go  ?  " 
"A  few  steps  from  this,  into  a  cooler  room." 
"  And   why    did   you    not   think  of  it  when   I 
was  dying  with  the  heat,  when  the  air  was   all 
gnats,  and  the  bed  all  bugs  ?  " 

"The  order  did  not  come  before." 
"Well,  patience  !  let  us  go." 
Although  I  had  suffered  so  much  in  that 
room,  it  pained  me  to  leave  it  ;  not  only  be- 
cause it  would  have  been  very  comfortable  in 
cold  weather,  but  for  many  other  reasons.  There 
I  had  those  ants  that  I  loved  and  nourished 
with    a    solicitude,   which    I    would    call    almost 


MY    PRISONS.  153 

paternal,  were  it  not  a  ridiculous  expression. 
A  few  days  before,  that  dear  spider  of  which 
I  have  spoken  had  emigrated,  I  know  not 
from  what  cause;  but  I  said,  "Who  knows 
but  he  may  remember  me,  and  come  back  ? 
And  now,  that  I  am  going  away,  he  will 
perhaps  return,  and  find  the  cell  vacant  ;  or, 
should  there  be  some  other  tenant,  he  may  be 
an  enemy  to  spiders  ;  he  may  desti'oy  that 
beautiful  web  with  his  slipper,  and  crush  the 
poor  insect  !  Yet  more,  had  not  this  sad  prison 
been  cheered  by  the  compassion  of  Zanze  ? 
How  often  has  she  rested  upon  that  window, 
and  let  the  crumbs  of  buzzolai*  fall  liberally  for 
my  ants.  There  she  used  to  sit  ;  in  that  place 
she  told  me  one  story,  in  this  another  ;  there 
she  bent  over  my  table,  and  her  tears  dropt  up- 
on it  !  " 

The  place  in  wliich  I  was  put  was  also  in 
the  Piombi  ;  but  to  the  north  and  west,  with 
two  windows,  one  on  each  side,  an  abode  of 
perpetual  cold,  and,  in  the  severe  months,  of 
horrible    frost. 

The  window  towards  the  west  was  very  large  ; 

•  A  kind  of  little  rolls,  thus  called  in  Venice. 


154  WY    PRISONS. 

that  towards  the  north  was  small,  and  high  above 
my  bed. 

I  looked  out  first  at  the  north  window,  and 
found  that  it  commanded  a  view  of  the  palace 
of  the  Patriarch.  Other  prisons  were  near  mine, 
in  a  wing  of  small  extent  on  the  right,  and  in 
a  projection  of  the  building  in  front.  In  this 
projection  there  were  two  cells,  one  above  the 
other  ;  the  lower  one  had  an  enormous  win- 
dow, through  which  I  saw  a  man  elegantly 
dressed,  walking  about.  It  was  Signor  Caporali 
of  Cesena.  He  saw  me,  made  a  signal  to  me, 
and  we  told  each  other  our  names. 

I  then  wished  to  examine  the  view  from  my 
other  window  ;  I  placed  the  table  upon  the  bed 
and  a  chair  upon  the  table,  climbed  up,  and 
saw  that  it  was  on  a  level  with  a  part  of  the 
roof  of  the  palace.  Beyond  the  palace  appear- 
ed a  large  part  of  the  city  and  the  Lagoon. 

I  stood  observing  this  beautiful  view,  and  did 
not  move  when  I  heard  the  door  open.  It  was 
the  gaoler,  who,  perceiving  where  I  had  climbed, 
forgot  that  I  could  not  pass  through  the  bars 
like  a  mouse,  and  thought  that  I  was  attempt- 
ing to  escape.  In  the  first  moment  of  his  alarm, 
he    sprung   upon   the   bed   in   spite  of  a   rheu- 


MY    PRISONS.  155 

matism  which  tormented  him,  and  caught  me 
by  the  leg,  screaming  like  an  eagle. 

"  But  do  you  not  see,  stupid  fellow,  that  it 
is  not  possible  for  me  to  escape  on  account  of 
these  bars  ?  Do  you  not  understand,  that  I  got 
up  here  only  from  curiosity  ?  " 

"  I  see,  iSi'oj*,  I  see,  I  understand  ;  but  come 
down,  I  say,  come  down  ;  these  are  temptations 
to  escape." 

And  there  was  nothing  for  me  to  do,  but  to 
get  down  and  laugh. 


156  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 

At  the  windows  of  the  side  prison  I  recog- 
nised six  other  persons,  who  were  confined  for 
political  causes. 

Thus,  while  I  had  prepared  myself  for  greater 
solitude  than  before,  I  found  that  I  was  in  a 
kind  of  world.  At  first  this  was  unpleasant  to 
me,  either  because  my  long-continued  solitary 
life  had  already  made  my  disposition  somewhat 
unsocial,  or  because  the  unpleasant  termination 
of  my  acquaintance  with  Julian  had  made  me 
distrustful. 

But  the  little  intercourse  we  began  to  have, 
partly  by  words  and  partly  by  signs,  soon  ap- 
peared to  me  an  advantage,  if  not  as  a  stimu- 
lus to  cheerfulness,  at  least  as  a  diversion  to 
my  thoughts.  Of  my  connexion  with  Julian  I 
made  no  mention  to  any  one.  We  had  given 
our  word  of  honor  to  each  other,  that  the  secret 
should  remain  buried  in  ourselves.  I  should 
not  have  spoken  of  the  subject  in  these  pages, 
were  it  not  impossible  for  those  under  whose 
eyes   they   may   pass   to    conjecture,    among   so 


MY    PRISONS.  157 

many  individuals  as  were  confined  in  those  cells, 
which  was  Julian. 

Besides  this  new  intercourse  with  my  fellow 
prisoners,  I  formed  an  acquaintance  of  another 
kind,   which  was  very  agreeable  to  me. 

From  the  large  window  I  saw,  beyond  the 
projecting  cells  which  were  in  front  of  me, 
an  extent  of  roofs,  surmounted  with  chimneys, 
turrets,  belfries,  and  cupolas,  which  were  lost 
in  the  distant  perspective  of  the  sea  and  sky. 
In  the  house  nearest  to  me,  which  was  a  wing 
of  the  Patriarchal  palace,  dwelt  a  worthy  family, 
who  acquired  a  title  to  my  gratitude  from  show- 
ing, by  their  greetings,  the  pity  with  which  I 
inspired  them.  A  salutation,  a  word  of  love  to 
the  unhappy,  is  a  great  kindness  ! 

A  boy  al)out  nine  or  ten  years  old  began  to 
raise  his  little  hands  towards  me  from  a  win- 
dow, and  I  heard  him  exclaim  : 

"  Mamma,  mamma,  they  have  put  some  one 
up  in  the  Piombi.  Oh,  poor  prisoner  !  who  are 
you  ?  " 

"  I  am  Silvio  Pellico,"  I  replied. 

Anotlicr  l)oy,  rather  larger,  then  ran  to  the 
window,  and  exclaimed  : 

"Arc  you  Silvio  Pellico  ?  " 

"Yes,  and  you,  dear  boys  ?  " 


158  MY    PRISONS. 

"  My  name  is  Antonio  S. . . .,  and  my  brother's 
is  Giuseppe." 

Then  he  turned  to  some  one  within  and  said; 
"What  else  shall  I  ask  him  ?  " 

And  a  woman  whom  I  suppose  to  have  been 
their  mother,  and  who  was  half  concealed,  sug- 
gested some  kind  words  to  those  dear  children, 
which  they  repeated,  and  for  which  I  thanked 
them  with  the  liveliest  emotion. 

These  conversations  were  but  a  small  matter, 
and  it  was  necessary  not  to  carry  them  too 
far,  lest  they  should  draw  the  notice  of  the 
gaoler  ;  but  every  day  they  were  repeated,  to 
my  great  consolation,  in  the  morning,  at  noon, 
and  at  night.  When  the  lights  were  brought, 
and  the  woman  closed  the  window,  the  boys  cried 
out  ;  "Good  night,  Silvio  !  "  and  she,  embold- 
ened by  the  darkness,  repeated  with  a  tremu- 
lous voice  ;  "  Good  night,  Silvio  !  Be  of  good 
courage  !  " 

When  those  children  took  their  breakfast  or 
supper,  they  said  to  me  ;  "  Oh  that  we  could 
give  you  some  of  our  coffee  and  milk  !  Oh 
that  we  could  give  you  some  of  our  rolls ! 
Remember  to  come  and  see  us  the  day  you 
are  set  at  liberty  !  We  will  give  you  some 
fine  warm  rolls,  and  so  many  kisses  !  " 


MY    PRISONS.  159 


CHAPTER   XLIV. 

With  the  month  of  October  returned  the 
most  wretched  of  my  anniversaries.  I  was  ar- 
rested on  the  13th  day  of  this  month,  the  pre- 
ceding year.  Several  other  sad  recollections 
were  connected  with  it.  Two  years  before, 
in  October,  an  excellent  man,  whom  I  highly 
honored,  was  drowned  in  the  Ticino,  by  an  un- 
happy accident.  Three  years  before,  in  Oc- 
tober, Odoardo  Briche,  a  young  man  whom  I 
loved  as  if  he  were  my  son,  had  accidentally 
killed  himself  with  a  gun.  In  my  early  youth 
another  heavy  affliction  had  befallen  me  in  Oc- 
tober. 

Although  I  am  not  superstitious,  I  was  made 
very  sad  by  the  recollection  of  so  many  un- 
happy events,  which  had  been  fated  to  occur  in 
this  month. 

While  talking  from  the  window  with  those 
boys  and  with  my  fellow  prisoners,  I  feigned 
cheerfulness  ;  but  I  had  scarcely  returned  into 
my  den,  when  an  inexpressible  load  of  sorrow 
weighed  upon  my  soul. 


160  MY    PRISONS. 

I  took  up  my  pen  to  compose  verses,  or  to 
engage  in  some  other  literary  occupation ;  and 
an  irresistible  power  seemed  to  force  me  to 
write  something  altogether  difTerent.  What  did 
I  write  ?  Long  letters  which  I  could  not  send  ; 
long  letters  to  my  dear  family,  in  which  I 
poured  out  all  my  heart.  I  wrote  them  on  the 
table,  and  then  erased  them.  They  were  warm 
expressions  of  tenderness,  and  recollections  of 
the  happiness  I  had  enjoyed  with  my  parents, 
my  brothers,  and  my  sisters,  all  so  indulgent 
and  so  affectionate.  The  longing  I  felt  for 
them  inspired  me  with  an  infinite  variety  of 
passionate  expressions.  After  having  written 
hours  and  hours,  other  sentiments  always  re- 
mained for  me  to  express. 

Thus  I  repeated  my  biography  under  a  new 
form,  illuded  myself  by  reproducing  the  image 
of  the  past,  and  forced  myself  to  keep  my 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  happy  times  which  were 
no  more.  But,  oh  God  !  how  often,  after  hav- 
ing represented  in  a  most  animated  picture  the 
fairest  portion  of  my  life,  after  having  excited 
my  imagination  to  such  a  degree  that  I  even 
seemed  to  be  with  the  persons  to  whom  I  spoke, 
I  suddenly  recollected  the  present,  and  my  pen 


MY    PRISONS.  161 

dropped,  and  I  was  seized  with  horror  !  Those 
were  truly  fearful  moments.  I  had  experienced 
them  at  other  times,  but  never  with  such  agi- 
tation as  that  which  now  assailed  me. 

I  attributed  this  agitation  and  terrible  an- 
guish to  the  too  great  excitement  of  feeling, 
caused  by  the  epistolary  form  that  I  gave  to 
those  writings,  and  by  addressing  them  to  per- 
sons so  dear  to  me, 

I  wished  to  do  otherwise,  but  I  could  not. 
I  wished  at  least  to  give  up  the  epistolary  form  ; 
I  could  not.  I  took  the  pen,  placed  myself  to 
write,  and  the  result  was  always  a  letter  full 
of  tenderness  and  grief 

"  Is  my  will  no  longer  free  ?  "  said  I.  "  Is 
this  necessity  of  doing  what  I  wish  not  to  do,  a 
wandering  of  my  mind  ?  This  has  not  happen- 
ed to  me  before.  It  might  have  been  accounted 
for  in  the  early  period  of  my  confinement  ; 
but  now,  that  I  am  inured  to  the  life  of  a  pris- 
on, now,  wlicn  my  imagination  ought  to  be  calm 
upon  all  subjects,  now,  that  I  have  so  fortified 
myself  with  philosophical  and  i-cligious  reflec- 
tions, how  have  I  become  the  slave  of  the  blind 
desires  of  my  heart,  and  grown  thus  childish  ? 
Let  me  apply  myself  to  something  else." 
11 


162  MY    PRISONS. 

I  then  endeavoured  to  pray  ;  or  to  deaden 
my  feelings  by  studying  the  German  language. 
Vain  effort  !  I  found  myself  beginning  to  write 
another  letter. 


3IY    PRISOKS.  163 


CHAPTER   XLV. 

Such  a  state  was  a  real  disease  ;  perhaps  I 
might  call  it  a  kind  of  somnambulism.  It  was, 
without  doubt,  the  effect  of  great  exhaustion, 
produced  hy  thinking  and  watching. 

It  went  much  further.  My  nights  became 
constantly  sleepless,  and  for  the  most  part  fe- 
verish. In  vain  I  ceased  to  take  coffee  in  the 
evening  ;  my  sleeplessness  was  the  same. 

It  seemed  as  if  I  were  two  men,  one  whose 
will  it  was  to  be  always  writing  letters,  and 
another  who  wished  to  do  differently.  ''Well," 
said  I,  "  let  us  come  to  an  accommodation  ; 
write  letters,  but  write  them  in  German  ;  thus 
we    shall  learn  that  lancuaire. " 

From  this  time  I  wrote  every  thing  in  bad 
German.  By  doing  so  I  at  least  made  some 
progress  in  that  study. 

In  the  morning,  after  long  watching,  my  brain 
being  exhausted,  I  became  sleepy.  Tlien  I 
dreamed,  or  rather  wildly  imagined,  that  I  saw 
my  father,  my  mother,  and  others  who  were 
dear   to   me,    in   despair   at   my   fate.      I  heard 


164  MY    PRISONS. 

from  them  the  most  miserable  sobs,  and  I  sud- 
denly awoke,  sobbing  and  affrighted. 

Sometimes  in  those  short  dreams,  I  seemed 
to  hear  my  mother  consoling  the  others  who 
had  entered  with  her  into  my  prison,  and  ad- 
dressing to  me  the  most  holy  words  upon  the 
duty  of  resignation  ;  and  when  I  rejoiced  in 
her  firmness,  and  in  that  of  my  other  friends, 
she  suddenly  burst  into  tears,  and  they  all  wept. 
No  one  can  tell  what  agonies  my  soul  then  suf- 
fered. 

In  order  to  relieve  myself  from  such  misery, 
I  tried  not  to  go  to  bed  at  all.  I  kept  my 
lamp  burning  the  whole  night,  and  remained 
at  the  table  to  read  and  write.  But  of  what 
use  was  it  ?  I  found  myself  after  a  time  read- 
ing wide  awake,  but  without  understanding  any 
thing,  and  absolutely  incapable  of  arranging  my 
thoughts.  Then  I  copied  something,  but  while 
I  copied,  my  mind  wandered  from  what  I  wrote  ; 
I  was  ruminating  on  my  afflictions. 

Yet  if  I  went  to  bed,  it  was  worse.  No  po- 
sition was  tolerable  to  me  while  lying  down. 
I  threw  myself  about  convulsively,  and  was 
compelled  to  rise.  Or  if  I  sometimes  slept,  my 
dreams  of  despair  only  made  me  more  ill  than 
watching. 


MY    PRISONS.  165 

I  derived   no   consolation   from   my   prayers 
yet   I   nevertheless   repeated  them    frequently  ; 
not    long   prayers    in  words,    but   invocations  to 
God  !     God  united  to  man,  and  acquainted  with 
human  griefs  ! 

In  those  horrible  nights  my  imagination  was 
excited  to  such  a  degree,  that  even  while  awake 
it  appeared  to  me  that  I  sometimes  heard  groans 
in  my  prison,  and  sometimes  stifled  laughter. 
I  had  never,  from  my  infancy  to  this  time,  been 
a  believer  in  witches  and  apparitions  ;  but  now 
that  laughter  and  those  groans  terrified  me  ;  I 
knew  not  how  to  explain  them,  and  was  con- 
strained to  doubt,  whether  I  were  not  the  sport 
of  unknown  malignant  powers. 

Many  times  I  took  the  light  trembling,  and 
looked  under  the  bed  to  see  if  there  was  any 
one  there  who  was  mocking  at  me.  Many  times 
the  suspicion  came  upon  me,  that  I  had  been 
removed  from  my  first  room  and  brought  into 
this,  because  there  was  here  some  trap-door,  or 
some  secret  opening  in  the  wall,  whence  my 
tormentors  observed  all  I  did,  and  cruelly  amused 
themselves  by  terrifying  me. 

While    I    was   seated    at   the   tabic,    it  some- 
times seemed  as   if  some  one  pulled  me  by  my 


166  MY    PRISONS, 

dress,  or  that  a  push  was  given  to  a  book, 
which  fell  on  the  floor,  or  that  some  person 
behind  me  blew  upon  the  light  to  extinguish 
it.  Then  I  sprung  upon  my  feet,  looked  around, 
walked  about  suspiciously,  and  asked  myself,  if 
I  were  mad,  or  in  my  senses.  I  no  longer 
knew  whether  what  I  saw  or  felt  was  reality 
or  illusion,  and  I  exclaimed  with  anguish  :  — 
"  Deus  mens,  Deus  mens,  ut  quid  dereliquisti  me?  " 
("  My  God,  my  God  !  why  hast  thou  forsaken 
me  ?  ") 


MY    PRISONS.  167 


CHAPTER    XLVI. 

OxcE  I  went  to  bed  a  little  before  dawn.  I 
had  no  doubt  whatever  of  having  put  my  hand- 
kerchief under  the  bolster.  But  after  a  mo- 
ment's sleep  I  awoke  as  usual,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  some  one  were  strangling  me.  I  per- 
ceived that  my  neck  was  tightly  bound.  How 
strange  !  It  was  bound  by  my  handkerchief, 
strongly  tied  with  many  knots.  I  could  have 
sworn  that  I  had  not  made  those  knots,  that  I 
had  not  touched  the  handkerchief  since  I  had 
put  it  under  the  bolster.  I  must  certainly  have 
done  it,  either  sleeping  or  in  delirium,  without 
retaining  any  remembrance  of  it  ;  but  I  could 
not  believe  it  ;  and  from  that  time  was  every 
night  in  fear  of  being  strangled. 

I  am  aware  how  ridiculous  such  wanderings 
of  the  mind  must  appear  to  others  ;  but  I  suf- 
fered so  much  from  them,  that  I  shudder  at  the 
thought  of  them  still. 

They  disappeared  every  morning  ;  and  as 
long  as  the  light  of  day  lasted  I  felt  myself 
so   strengthened   against    their    terrors,   that    it 


168  MY    PRISONS. 

seemed  to  me  impossible  I  should  ever  suffer 
from  them  again.  But  at  sunset  I  began  to 
tremble  anew,  and  every  night  brought  back 
the  wild  phantoms  of  the    preceding  one. 

In  proportion  to  my  Aveakness  during  the 
night,  were  my  efforts  during  the  day  to  ap- 
pear gay  in  conversation  with  my  companions, 
with  the  two  boys  in  the  Patriarchal  palace, 
and  with  my  gaolers.  No  one  who  heard  me 
joke  as  I  did,  could  have  imagined  the  misera- 
ble infirmity,  from  which  I  was  suffering.  I 
hoped  to  invigorate  myself  by  these  efforts  ;  but 
they  were  of  no  avail.  Those  nocturnal  appa- 
ritions, which  by  day  I  called  absurdities,  be- 
came in  the  evening  frightful  realities. 

If  I  had  dared,  I  would  have  entreated  the 
commission  to  change  my  room  ;  but  I  could 
not  bring  myself  to  it,  from  the  fear  of  being 
laughed  at. 

All  my  reasonings,  all  my  resolutions,  all 
my  studies,  all  my  prayers  being  in  vain,  the 
horrible  idea  of  being  totally  and  for  ever  aban- 
doned by  God  took  possession  of  my  mind. 

All  those  malignant  sophisms  against  Provi- 
dence, which,  when  my  understanding  was  sound, 
had    a   few    weeks    before    appeared   to   me    so 


MY    PRISONS. 


169 


foolish,  now  came  swarming  into  my  head,  and 
seemed  to  me  worthy  of  attention.  I  strug- 
gled against  this  temptation  for  several  days  ; 
then  I  abandoned  myself  to  it. 

I  denied  the  excellence  of  religion  ;  I  said, 
as  I  had  heard  furious  atheists  say,  and  as  Ju- 
lian had  written  to  me  not  long  before  ;  "  Re- 
ligion serves  only  to  enfeeble  the  mind."  I  was 
presumptuous  enough  to  believe,  that  by  re- 
nouncing my  faitli  in  God,  my  mind  would  be 
strengthened.  Mad  belief!  I  denied  God  ;  and 
yet  was  unable  to  deny  the  existence  of  in- 
visible malignant  beings,  who  seemed  to  sur- 
round me,   and  to  feast  upon  my  miseries. 

What  shall  I  call  this  torment  ?  Is  it  enough 
to  say  that  it  was  a  disease  ?  Or  was  it  at  the 
same  time  a  divine  chastisement,  to  cast  down 
my  pride,  and  to  make  me  understand  that  with- 
out special  light  I  might  become  an  unbeliever 
like  Julian,  and  even  more  insensate  than  he. 

However  it  may  be,  God  delivered  me  from 
this  great  evil  when  I  least  expected  it. 

One  morning  after  I  had  taken  coffee,  I  was 
seized  with  violent  vomiting  and  colic.  I  thought 
I  had  been  poisoned.  After  being  exhausted 
by    vomiting,    I   was  in   a   profuse    perspiration, 


170  MY    PRISONS. 

and  remained  in  bed.     Towards  mid-day  I  fell 
asleep,  aud  slept  peacefully  until  the  evening. 

I  awoke,  surprised  at  having  rested  so  long ; 
and,  thinking  that  I  should  sleep  no  more,  I 
arose.  "  If  I  am  up,"  said  I,  "  I  shall  be 
better  prepared  for  my  usual  terrors." 

But  those  terrors  did  not  come.  I  was  trans- 
ported, and  in  the  fulness  of  my  gratitude,  feel- 
ing once  more  the  presence  of  God,  I  threw 
myself  upon  my  knees  to  adore  Him,  and  to 
ask  his  forgiveness,  for  having  denied  him  dur- 
ing many  days.  This  effusion  of  joy  exhausted 
my  strength,  and  while  I  was  resting  upon  my 
knees,  supported  by  a  chair,  I  again  fell  asleep, 
and  slept  in  that  position. 

I  know  not  if  it  were  an  hour  or  many  hours 
afterwards,  when  I  half  awoke  ;  but  I  scarcely 
had  time  to  throw  myself  dressed  as  I  was  up- 
on the  bed,  when  I  again  fell  into  a  sleep  which 
lasted  till  dawn.  I  continued  sleepy  all  day  ; 
in  the  evening  I  lay  down  early  and  slept  the 
whole  night.  I  am  ignorant  what  crisis  had 
taken  place  in  my  disorder,  but  I  was  restored 
to  health. 


MY    PRISONS.  ni 


CHAPTER    XLVII. 

The  nausea,  and  pain  in  my  head,  from 
which  I  had  suffered  a  long  time,  ceased,  and  I 
had  an  extraordinary  appetite.  I  digested  well, 
and  my  strength  increased.  Wonderful  Provi- 
dence !  which  had  taken  away  my  strength  to 
humble  me,  and  restored  it  to  me  as  the  period 
drew  near  when  the  sentences  were  to  be  pro- 
nounced, not  willing  that  I  should  sink  under 
their  announcement. 

On  the  24th  of  November,  one  of  our  com- 
panions. Dr.  Foresti,  was  taken  from  the  pris- 
ons of  the  Piomhi,  and  carried  we  knew  not 
whither.  The  gaoler,  his  wife,  and  the  secon- 
dini  were  terrified,  and  none  of  them  would 
give  me  any  liglit  upon  the  subject. 

"And  what  would  you  know,"  said  Treme- 
rcllo,  "  if  there  is  notliing  good  to  be  known  ? 
I  have  told  you  too  much  already." 

"  Of  what  use  is  silence  ?  "  exclaimed  I,  trem- 
bling. "  Have  I  not  understood  you  ?  Is  he 
then  condemned  to  death  ?  " 

"  Who  .?  ...  he  ? ...  Dr.  Foresti  ?  "  . . . 


172  MY    PRISONS. 

Tremerello  hesitated  ;  but  the  love  of  talking 
was  not  the  least  of  his  virtues. 

"  Do  not  then  say  that  I  am  a  tattler  ;  I 
would  not  of  my  own  accord  open  my  mouth 
about  these  matters.  Remember  that  you  have 
forced  me." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  have  forced  you  ;  but  go  on  ! 
tell  me  all.     What  of  poor  Foresti  ?  " 

"Ah,  Signore  !  they  have  made  him  pass  the 
Bridge  of  Sighs  !  he  is  in  the  condemned  cells ! 
The  sentence  of  death  has  been  pronounced 
upon  him  and  two  others." 

"  And  will  it  be  executed  ?  When  ?  Unhap- 
py men  !     Who  are  the  other  two  ?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  more.  The  sentences  are 
not  yet  published.  It  is  said  in  Venice,  that 
there  will  be  several  commutations  of  punish- 
ment. God  grant  that  none  of  them  may  be 
executed  !  God  grant,  that,  if  all  of  them  do 
not  escape  from  death,  you  at  least  may.  I 
feel  as  much  affection  for  you  .  . .  pardon  the 
freedom  ...  as    if  you  were    my  brother  !  " 

And  he  went  away  much  moved.  The  reader 
may  imagine  in  what  agitation  I  was  all  that 
day  and  the  following  night,  and  for  several 
succeeding  days,  in  which  I  could  learn  nothing 
more. 


MY    PRISONS.  173 

This  uncertainty  lasted  for  a  month  ;  finally 
the  sentences  relative  to  the  first  trial  were 
published.  Many  persons  were  fiDund  guilty, 
nine  of  whom  were  condemned  to  death,  which 
as  an  act  of  grace  was  commuted  to  severe 
imprisonment  fcarcere  duroj  ;  some  being  con- 
demned to  this  for  twenty  years,  others  for  fif- 
teen, and  others  for  ten  or  less.  In  the  two 
former  cases  the  punishment  was  to  be  suffered 
in  tlie  fortress  of  Spielberg,  near  the  city  of 
Brunn,  in  Moravia  ;  in  the  latter,  in  the  for- 
tress of  Laybach. 

Was  the  fact,  that  the  punishment  of  all  those 
included  in  the  first  examination  had  been  com- 
muted, an  argument  that  those  concerned  in 
the  second  would  likewise  be  spared  from  death  ^ 
Or  would  indulgence  be  exercised  only  towards 
the  first,  because  they  were  arrested  before 
the  notifications  were  published  against  secret 
societies,  and  would  all  the  rigor  of  the  law 
fall  upon  the  second  ? 

"  The  solution  of  this  doubt  cannot  be  dis- 
tant," said  1  ;  "  thanks  be  to  Heaven,  that  I 
have  time  to  foresee  death,  and  to  prepare  my- 
self for  it." 


174  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    XLVIII. 

My  only  care  was  to  die  like  a  Christian 
and  with  proper  courage.  I  was  tempted  to 
avoid  the  gibbet  by  committing  suicide  ;  but 
this  thought  passed  away.  — What  merit  is  there 
in  not  suffering  one's  self  to  be  put  to  death 
by  an  executioner,  but  becoming  instead  one's 
own  executioner  ?  Is  it  to  preserve  honor  ? 
And  is  it  not  a  childish  fancy  to  think  there 
is  more  honor  in  cheating  the  executioner  than 
in  not  doing  so,  when  one  is  at  all  events 
compelled  to  die  ?  —  Even  if  I  had  not  been  a 
Christian,  suicide  would  upon  reflection  have 
appeared  to  me  a  foolish  indulgence,  a  useless 
act. 

"If  the  end  of  my  life  has  arrived,"  said  I 
to  myself,  "  am  I  not  fortunate  that  it  is  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  give  me  time  to  recollect 
myself,  and  to  purify  my  conscience  by  holy 
desires  and  acts  of  penitence,  worthy  of  a  man  ? 
Judging  with  the  vulgar,  to  die  on  the  gibbet 
is  the  worst  of  deaths  ;  judging  like  a  wise  man, 
is  it  not  to  be  preferred  to  many  kinds  of  death 


MY    PRISONS.  175 

that  follow  from  disease,  accompanied  by  great 
weakness  of  intellect,  which  leaves  no  oppor- 
tunity to  raise  the  soul  from  low  thoughts  ?  " 

I  was  so  deeply  penetrated  by  the  truth  of 
this  reasoning,  that  the  horror  of  death,  and 
of  that  kind  of  death,  entirely  passed  away.  I 
meditated  frequently  upon  the  sacraments,  which 
were  to  strengthen  me  for  the  solemn  change  ; 
and  I  seemed  to  be  in  a  state  to  receive  them 
with  such  dispositions  as  would  render  them  ef- 
ficacious. The  elevation  of  soul  which  I  be- 
lieved myself  to  possess,  the  peace,  the  indul- 
gent feelings  towards  those  who  hated  me,  the 
joy  in  being  able  to  sacrifice  my  life  to  the 
will  of  God  ;  should  I  have  preserved  them, 
had  I  been  led  to  execution  ?  Alas  !  how  full 
of  contradictions  is  man  !  and  when  he  seems 
to  be  strongest  and  most  holy,  ho  may  fall  in 
an  instant  into  weakness  and  sin.  God  only 
knows  if  I  should  have  died  worthily.  I  do  not 
esteem  myself  so  highly  as  to  aflirm  it. 

In  tiic  mean  time  the  probable  nearness  of 
death  so  fixed  my  imagination  ii|)(iii  this  idea, 
that  death  ai)pcarcd  to  mo  not  only  possible, 
but  signified  by  an  infalliljlo  presentiment.  No 
hope    of  avoiding   this    destiny    any   longer   en- 


176  MY    PRISONS. 

tered  my  heart  ;  and  at  every  sound  of  foot- 
steps and  of  keys,  at  every  opening  of  my  door, 
I  said  to  myself ;  "  Courage  !  perhaps  they 
come  to  take  me  to  hear  my  sentence.  Let 
me  hstea  to  it  with  becoming  tranquillity,  and 
bless  the  Lord." 

I  reflected  upon  what  I  should  write  for  the 
last  time  to  my  family,  and  to  each  member 
of  it  ;  to  my  father,  my  mother,  to  each  of 
my  brothers  and  to  each  of  my  sisters  ;  and 
while  revolving  in  my  mind  those  expressions 
of  feelings  so  profound  and  so  sacred,  I  was 
tenderly  affected,  I  wept  ;  yet  those  tears  did 
not  enfeeble  my  resigned  will. 

Could  it  be  otherwise  than  that  I  should 
again  pass  sleepless  nights  ?  But  how  very  dif- 
ferent were  they  from  those  I  had  suffered  be- 
fore !  I  heard  neither  groans  nor  laughter  in 
my  room.  I  imagined  neither  spirits  nor  hu- 
man beings  concealed.  Night  was  more  pleas- 
ant to  me  than  day  ;  because  my  thoughts 
were  more  concentrated  in  prayer.  Towards 
four  o'clock  I  usually  went  to  bed,  and  slept 
tranquilly  for  two  hours.  I  then  awoke,  and 
remained  late  in  bed  in  order  to  rest.  I  arose 
about  eleven  o'clock. 


MY    PRISONS.  177 

One  night  having  lain  down  somewhat  earlier 
than  usual,  I  had  slept  scai'cely  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  when  I  awoke,  and  saw  a  great  light 
upon  the  wall  opposite  to  me.  I  feared  that 
I  had  fallen  into  my  former  delirium  ;  but  what 
I  saw  Avas  no  illusion.  The  light  came  through 
the  north  window,  beneath  which  I  lay. 

I  started  up,  took  the  table,  put  it  upon  my 
bed,  placed  a  chair  upon  it,  climbed  up,  and 
saw  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  terrible  spec- 
tacles of  fire  that  I  can  imagine. 

It  was  a  great  conflagration,  at  the  distance 
of  a  musket-shot  from  our  prisons.  It  caught 
in  the  house  which  contained  the  public  ovens, 
and  consumed  it. 

The  night  was  very  dark,  and  consequently 
the  vast  volumes  of  flame  and  smoke  were  the 
more  conspicuous,  agitated  as  they  were  by  a 
violent  wind.  Sparks  flew  on  all  sides,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  the  heavens  rained  them  down. 
The  neighbouring  Lagoon  reflected  the  fire.  A 
multitude  of  gondolas  were  going  and  coming. 
I  pictured  to  myself  the  alarm  and  danger 
of  those  who  lived  in  the  burning  house  and 
in  its  vicinity,  and  sympathized  with  them.  I 
heard  distant  voices  of  men  and  women  calling 
12 


178  MY    PRISONS. 

to  each  other  ;  "  Tognina  !  Momolo  !  Beppo  ! 
Zanze  !  "  Yes,  the  name  of  Zanze  too  sound- 
ed in  my  ears  !  There  are  a  thousand  of  them 
in  Venice  ;  yet  I  feared  that  it  might  be  that 
one,  whom  I  remembei'ed  with  so  much  inter- 
est !  — "  Can  that  unfortunate  girl  be  there  ? 
and  surrounded  perhaps  by  flames  !  Oh  that 
I  might  rush  to  her  deliverance  !  " 

Breathless,  alarmed,  wondering,  I  remained 
at  the  window  till  daylight  ;  then  I  descended, 
oppressed  by  a  mortal  sadness,  imagining  much 
more  harm  than  had  happened.  Tremerello  told 
me,  that  nothing  had  been  burned  but  the  ovens, 
and  the  adjoining  magazines,  with  a  large  num- 
ber of  sacks  of  meal. 


MY    PRISONS.  179 


CHAPTER    XLIX. 

My  imagination  was  still  powerfully  affected 
by  having  seen  this  conflagration,  when  a  few 
nights  afterwards,  —  I  had  not  yet  gone  to  bed, 
but  was  at  the  table  studying,  quite  benumbed 
with  cold,  —  I  heard  voices  at  a  little  distance. 
They  were  those  of  the  gaoler,  his  wife  and 
children,  and  the  secondini,  crying,  —  "Fire! 
Fire  !  Oh  blessed  Virgin  !  Oh  we  are  lost  !  " 
All  feeling  of  cold  immediately  left  me.  I 
sprang  on  my  feet  in  a  violent  perspiration,  and 
looked  round  to  discover  the  flames  ;  there 
were  none  to  be  seen. 

The  fire,  however,  was  in  the  palace  itself, 
in  some  offices  near  the  prisons. 

One  of  the  secondini  exclaimed  ;  "  But,  Mas- 
ter, what  shall  we  do  with  these  gentlemen, 
who  are  caged  up  here,  if  the  fire  increases?" 
The  gaoler  replied  ;  "  I  have  not  the  heart 
to  leave  them  to  be  roasted.  Yet  I  cannot 
open  the  cells  without  a  permit  from  the  com- 
mission. Run,  then,  quick,  I  say,  and  ask  their 
leave." 


180  MY    PRISONS. 

"  As  quick  as  possible,  Sior,  but  the  answer 
will  not  be  in  season,  you  know." 

And  where  was  that  heroic  resignation,  which, 
when  I  thought  upon  death,  I  had  felt  so  sure 
of  possessing  .''  Why  should  the  idea  of  burn- 
ing alive  throw  me  into  a  fever  .''  As  if  it  were 
a  greater  satisfaction  to  be  strangled  than  to 
be  burned  !  I  thought  of  this,  and  was  asham- 
ed of  myself.  I  was  about  to  call  to  the  gaol- 
er, to  beg  him  in  mercy  to  open  the  door  ;  but 
I  restrained  myself.     Still  I  was  in   fear. 

"  See,"  said  I,  "what  my  courage  would  be, 
if,  delivered  from  the  flames,  I  should  be  led 
to  execution  !  I  shall  command  myself,  I  shall 
hide  my  cowardice  from  others,  but  I  shall  trem- 
ble. But  ...  is  there  not  courage  in  acting  as 
if  we  felt  no  fear,  even  while  we  tremble  ?  Is 
it  not  generosity  to  force  ourselves  to  give  wil- 
lingly what  we  regret  to  give  ?  Is  it  not  obe- 
dience, when  we  obey  with  difficulty  ?  " 

The  uproar  in  the  gaoler's  house  was  so 
great  as  to  indicate  that  the  danger  was  con- 
tinually increasing.  And  the  secondino,  who  had 
gone  to  ask  permission  to  remove  us,  did  not 
return  !  At  last  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  heard 
his  voice  ;  I  listened,  but  could  not  distinguish 


MY    PRISONS.  181 

his  words  ;  I  waited,  I  hoped  ;  in  vain  !  no  one 
came.  Is  it  possible  that  permission  has  not 
been  granted  for  our  removal  to  some  place  of 
safety  ?  And  what,  if  no  means  of  escape  re- 
main ?  And  what,  if  the  gaoler  and  his  family 
should  care  only  to  save  themselves,  and  no 
one  should  think  more  of  the  poor  encaged 
men  ? 

"But  this,"  I  went  on,  "is  not  philosophy; 
this  is  not  religion  !  Should  I  not  do  better 
to  prepare  myself  to  see  the  flames  burst  into 
my  room,  ready  to  devour  me  ?  " 

In  the  mean  time  the  noises  diminished. 
Gradually  they  all  died  away.  "  And  does 
this  prove  that  the  fire  has  ceased,  or  have  all 
those  fled  that  could  escape,  and  do  none  re- 
main except  the  victims  abandoned  to  so  cruel 
a  fate  >  " 

The  continuation  of  the  silence  calmed  me. 
I  knew  that  the  fire  must  be  extinguished. 

I  went  to  bed,  and  reproached  myself  for 
the  distress  I  had  suflcred  as  cowardly  ;  and 
now,  that  I  was  no  longer  in  danger  of  being 
burned  alive,  I  regretted  that  I  had  not  been 
burned,  instead  of  having  soon  to  suficr  death 
from  the  hand  of  man. 


182  MY    PRISONS. 

The  following  morning  I  heard  from  Treme- 
rello  what  the  fire  was,  and  laughed  at  the 
fright  which  he  told  me  he  had  been  in,  as  if 
my  own  had  not  been  equal  to  or  greater  than 
his. 


MY    PRISONS.  183 


CHAPTER    L. 

The  11th  day  of  Januaiy,  1822,  about  nine 
in  the  morning,  Tremerello  took  an  opportu- 
nity to  come  to  me,  and  said  to  me  in  great 
agitation  : 

"  Do  you  know  that  in  the  island  of  San  Mi- 
chele  di  Murano,  a  short  distance  from  Venice, 
there  is  a  prison  where  there  are  perhaps  more 
than  a  hundred  carbonari  ?  " 

"  You  have  told  me  that  before.  What  do 
you  mean  ?  .  .  .  Go  on.  Speak.  Have  any  of 
them  been  condemned  ?  " 

"They  have  been." 

"Who  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"  Is  my  poor  friend  Maroncelli  there  ?  " 

"Ah,  Signore  !  I  do  not  know  who  is  there." 

And  he  went  away  troubled,  looking  at  me 
with  an  expression  of  pity. 

Soon  after  the  gaoler  came,  accompanied  by 
secondini,  and  l)y  a  man  whom  I  had  never  be- 
fore seen.  The  gaoler  appeared  confused.  The 
stranger  addressed  me  : 


184  MY    rUISONS. 

"  Signore,   the    commission   has  ordered   that 
you  should  go  with  me." 

^' Let  us  go,"  said  I;  "and  who  then  are 
you  ?  " 

"  I  am  the  keeper  of  the  prison  of  San  Mi- 
chele,  whither  you  are  to  be  removed." 

The  gaoler  of  the  Piombi  gave  my  money, 
which  he  had  in  his  keeping,  to  this  man.  I 
asked  and  obtained  permission  to  make  a  pres- 
ent to  the  secondini.  I  put  my  things  in  order, 
took  my  Bible  under  my  arm,  and  departed. 
As  I  was  descending  those  endless  stairs,  Tre- 
merello  pressed  my  hand  by  stealth.  It  seem- 
ed as  if  he  would  say  to  me  ;  "  Unfortunate 
man  !  you  are  lost." 

We  went  out  at  a  door,  which  opened  upon 
the  Lagoon,  where  was  a  gondola  with  two  of 
the  new  gaoler's  secondini. 

I  entered  the  gondola,,  affected  with  opposite 
emotions  ;  —  a  certain  regret  at  leaving  my 
dwelling  in  the  Piombi,  where  I  had  suffered 
much  ;  but  where  I  had  also  become  attached 
to  some  individuals,  and  they  to  lue  ;  —  the 
pleasure  of  finding  myself,  after  so  long  a  pe- 
riod of  confinement,  in  the  open  air,  of  seeing 
the    sky    and   the    city    and    the   water,  without 


MY  PRISONS.  185 

the  melancholy  frame  of  iron  gratings  ;  —  the 
recollection  of  the  cheerful  gondola,  which  at  a 
far  happier  time  bore  me  upon  that  same  La- 
goon, the  gondolas  of  the  Lago  di  Como,  those 
of  the  Lago  Maggiore,  and  the  little  boats  of 
the  Po,  and  those  of  the  Rhone  and  of  the 
Saone  !  .  .  .  Oh  smiling,  vanished  years  !  Who 
in  the  world  had  ever  been  so  happy  as  I  ?  " 

Born  of  the  kindest  parents,  in  that  condi- 
tion of  life  which,  being  at  an  equal  distance 
from  the  rich  and  the  poor,  enables  us  to  ob- 
tain a  true  knowledge  of  the  state  of  both,  a 
condition  which  I  esteem  the  most  advanta- 
geous for  the  cultivation  of  the  affections  ;  af- 
ter a  childhood  cheered  by  the  tenderest  do- 
mestic love,  I  went  to  Lyons  to  an  aged  mater- 
nal uncle,  very  rich  and  very  deserving  of  his 
wealth,  where  all  that  might  serve  to  enchant 
a  heart  longing  after  elegance  and  love,  had 
delighted  the  fervor  of  my  early  youth.  Thence 
I  returned  to  Italy,  and  lived  at  Milan  with 
my  parents,  where  I  pursued  my  studies,  in- 
dulged my  love  for  society  and  books,  and  met 
only  with  excellent  friends  an<l  flattering  ap- 
plause. Monti  and  Foscolo,  though  at  variance 
with  each  other,  were   equally  kind  to   me.     I 


186  MY    PRISONS. 

attached  myself  more  to  the  latter  ;  and  al- 
though an  irritable  man,  who  by  his  asperities 
provoked  many  to  dislike  him,  he  was  always 
gentle  and  cordial  towards  me,  and  I  regarded 
him  with  affectionate  respect.  The  other  dis- 
tinguished literai'y  men  also  loved  me  ;  and  I 
loved  them  in  return.  No  envy,  no  calumny 
ever  assailed  me,  or  if  they  did,  they  proceed- 
ed from  persons  of  so  little  credit,  that  they 
could  do  me  no  harm.  Upon  the  fall  of  the 
kingdom  of  Italy,  my  father  took  up  his  resi- 
dence at  Turin  with  the  rest  of  his  family,  and 
I,  delaying  from  time  to  time  to  join  these 
dear  friends,  at  last  fixed  my  residence  at  Mi- 
lan, where  so  much  happiness  surrounded  me 
that  I  knew  not  how  to*  resign  it. 

Among  other  excellent  friends,  there  were 
three  in  Milan  to  whom  I  was  particularly  at- 
tached ;  Don  Pietro  Borsiere,  Monsignor  Ludo- 
vico  di  Breme,  and  Count  Luigi  Porro  Lam- 
bertenghi.  To  these  was  afterwards  added 
Count  Federigo    Confalonieri.*      Becoming  the 

*  Pietro  Borsieri,  Ludovico  di  Breme,  and  Count  Porro, 
have  been  already  mentioned.  Count  Federigo  Confalo- 
nieri,  of  an  illustrious  Milanese  family,   a  man  of  great 


MY    PRISONS.  187 

tutor  of  two  young  children  of  Porro,  I  was 
like  a  father  to  them,  and  like  a  brother  to 
their  father.  Not  only  all  the  most  cultivated 
men  of  the  city  frequented  his  house,  but 
many  distinguished  foreigners.  Here  I  became 
acquainted  with  De  Stael,  Schlegel,  Davy,  By- 
ron, Hobhouse,  Brougham,  and  many  other 
eminent  persons  from  various  parts  of  Europe. 
What  a  great  pleasure  is  the  acquaintance  of 
men  of  worth,  and  how  great  a  stimulus  to 
ennoble  one's  self!  Yes,  I  was  happy!  I 
would  not  have  changed  my  lot  for  that  of  a 
prince.  And  from  this  happy  lot  I  had  sud- 
denly fallen  among  ruffians,  to  pass  from  prison 
to  prison,  and  at  last  to  die  on  a  gibbet  or  to 
perish  in    fetters  ! 

talents  and  resolution,  was  a  zealous  promoter  of  popular 
institutions  in  Lombardy.  The  Austrian  government,  be- 
coming aware  of  the  aversion  manifested  by  the  Coimt  to 
the  foreign  yoke,  wliich  weighed  upon  his  country,  had 
him  brought  to  trial  in  the  years  1822  and  1823,  and  he 
was  condemned  to  severe  imprisonment  (carccre  duro)  for 
life  in  the  fortress  of  Spielberg,  where  he  is  compelled  by 
rheumatic  pains  to  lie  stretched  on  a  wretched  bed  for  six 
months  of  the  year. 


188  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    LI. 

Revolving  such  thoughts  I  arrived  at  San 
Michele,  and  was  shut  up  in  a  room,  which 
had  a  view  of  a  court,  of  the  Lagoon,  and  of 
the  beautiful  island  of  Murano.  I  inquired  for 
Maroncelli  of  the  gaoler,  his  wife,  and  four  se- 
condini.  But  they  made  me  short  visits,  were 
full  of  reserve,  and  Avould  tell  me  nothing. 

However,  among  five  or  six  persons  it  would 
be  strange  not  to  find  one  ready  to  pity  and  to 
talk,  I  met  with  such  an  individual,  and  learn- 
ed what  follows  : 

Maroncelli,  after  having  been  long  alone,  had 
been  placed  with  Count  Camillo  Laderchi  ;  * 
but  the  Count  had  been  released  from  prison 
a  few  days  before  as  innocent,  and  Maroncelli 
was  again  alone.  Of  our  companions,  there 
had  also  been  released,  as  innocent.  Professor 
Gian-Domenico  Romagnosif  and  Count  Giovan- 


•  Count  Camillo  Laderchi,  belonging  to  one  of  the  most 
distinguished  families  of  Faenza. 
t  Gian-Domenico  Romagnosi,  born  in  Placentia,  was  for 


MY    PRISONS.  189 


ni  Arrivabene.*  Captain  Rezia  t  and  Signer 
Canova  were  together.  In  a  cell  contiguous 
to  theirs,  Professor  Ressi  J  lay  dying. 


some  years  Professor  of  Criminal  Law  in  the  University  of 
Pavia,  afterward  in  a  higli  school  of  law  established  by 
the  Italian  government.  He  is  the  author  of  many  philo- 
sopliical  works,  but  particularly  known  by  the  Genesi  del 
Diritto  Penale  (Grenesis  of  Criminal  Law),  by  which  he 
obtained  reputation  both  in  and  out  of  Italy. 

*  Count  Giovanni  Arrivabene  of  Mantua,  who  possessed 
a  considerable  fortune,  of  which  he  made  good  use  in  pri- 
vate charities,  and  in  the  maintenance  of  a  school  for  mu- 
tual instruction.  Having  fallen  under  the  suspicion  of  the 
government,  he  left  Italy,  and  during  his  exile  has  written 
a  work  which  will  be  useful  to  every  one  who  interests 
liimself  in  the  good  of  the  human  race.  It  is  entitled 
Dellc  Society  di  Puhldica  Bcncjicenza  in  Londra  (Of  the  So- 
cieties for  Public  Charity  in  London). 

t  Captain  Rezia,  an  officer  of  artillery  in  the  army  of 
Italy,  was  the  son  of  Prolessor  Rezia,  a  distinguished  anato- 
mist, whose  preparations  are  to  be  Been  in  tlic  Anatomical 
Museum  at  Pavia. 

t  Professor  Ressi  occupied  for  several  years  the  chair 
of  Political  Economy  in  tin-  University  of  Pavia,  and  is  tlio 
author  of  a  work  whicli  bears  the  title,  Kconomia  della 
Specie  Uinana  (Economy  of  tlie  Human  Race).  Having 
fallen  under  the  suspicion  of  the  Austrian  government,  ho 
was  put  in  prison,  and  a  year  afterwards  died  in  confine- 
ment. 


190  MY    PRISONS. 

"  The  sentences  of  those  who  are  not  liberat- 
ed have  then  arrived,"  said  I.  "When  is  it 
expected  that  they  will  be  declared  ?  Perhaps 
poor  Ressi  will  die,  or  will  be  in  no  situation 
to  hear  his  sentence  ;  is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"I  think   so." 

Every  day  I  inquired  for  this  unfortunate  man, 

"He  has  lost  his  speech; — he  has  regained 
it,  but  his  mind  wanders,  and  he  does  not  un- 
derstand ;  —  he  gives  few  signs  of  life  ;  —  he 
spits  blood  often,  and  his  mind  is  wandering 
still  ;  —  he  grows  worse  ;  —  he  is  better  ;  —  he 
is  dying." 

Such  answers  were  given  me  for  many  weeks. 
At  last  one  morning  I  was  told  ;  "  He  is 
dead  !  " 

I  shed  tears  for  him,  and  consoled  myself  by 
the  thought,  that  he  was  ignorant  of  his  con- 
demnation ! 

The  following  day,  the  21st  of  February, 
1822,  the  gaoler  came  for  me  about  ten  in  the 
forenoon.  He  conducted  me  to  the  hall  of  the 
commission,  and  withdrew.  The  president,  the 
inquisitor,  and  the  two  assistant  judges  were 
seated.     They  rose. 

The    president,  with   an  expression  of  gener- 


MY    PRISONS.  191 

ous  commiseration,  told  me  that  my  sentence 
had  arrived,  and  that  the  judgment  had  been 
terrible,  but  that  the  Emperor  had  mitigated 
its  severity. 

The  inquisitor  read  the  sentence  ;  "  Con- 
demned to  death."  He  then  read  the  imperial 
rescript ;  "  The  punishment  is  conmiuted  to  fif- 
teen years'  severe  imprisonment  in  the  fortress 
of  Spielberg." 

I  answered  ;  "The  will  of  God  be  done!" 

And  it  was  truly  my  intention  to  receive  this 
terrible  blow  as  a  Christian,  and  neither  to 
show,  nor  to  indulge  resentment  against  any 
one. 

The  president  praised  my  tranquillity,  and 
advised  me  always  to  preserve  it,  telling  me 
that  it  might  perhaps  depend  upon  this  tranquil- 
lity, whether  in  two  or  three  years  I  should  be 
considered  worthy  of  further  grace.  (Instead 
of  two  or  three,  they  were   many  more.) 

The  other  judges  likewise  addressed  to  me 
words  of  kindness  and  hope.  But  one  of  them, 
who  had  always  seemed  hostile  to  me  during 
the  trial,  said  something  courteous,  which  yet 
seemed  cutting  ;    and  tliat   courtesy,  I  thought, 


192  MY    PRISONS. 

was  belied  by  his  looks,  in  which  I  could  have 
sworn  I  saw  a  smile  of  joy  and  of  insult. 

At  the  present  time  I  would  not  swear  that 
it  was  so  ;  it  is  very  possible  that  I  may  have 
been  in  error.  But  then  my  blood  was  stirred, 
and  I  had  to  struggle  with  myself  to  repress 
my  anger.  I  dissembled  ;  and,  whilst  they 
were  praising  me  for  my  Christian  patience,  I 
had  in  reality  lost  it. 

"We  regret,"  said  the  inquisitor,  "that  to- 
morrow the  sentence  must  be  announced  to 
you  in  public  ;  but  the  formality  cannot  be  dis- 
pensed with." 

"  Be  it  so,  then,"  said  I. 

"From  this  time  we  grant  you,"  he  added, 
"the  society  of  your  friend."  And  he  called 
the  gaoler,  and  again  consigned  me  to  him, 
telling  him  that  I  was  to  be  put  with  Maron- 
celli. 


MY    PRISONS.  193 


CHAPTER    LII. 

What  a  happy  moment  for  my  friend  and 
for  myself  was  that  of  our  meeting  after  a 
separation  of  a  year  and  three  months,  and  af- 
ter so  much  suffering  !  The  joys  of  friendship 
made  us,  as  it  were,  forget  our  condemnation 
for  some  moments. 

Soon  however  I  tore  myself  from  his  arms, 
to  write  to  my  father,  I  earnestly  desired  that 
my  sad  fate  should  be  made  known  to  my  fam- 
ily by  myself  rather  than  by  any  one  else  ; 
80  that  the  anguish  of  those  beloved  hearts 
might  be  tempered  by  my  words  of  peace  and 
religion.  The  judges  promised  me  to  send  the 
letter  immediately. 

After  this  Maroncelli  spoke  to  me  of  his 
trial  and  I  of  mine  ;  and  we  confided  to  each 
other  various  incidents  of  our  imprisonment. 
Then,  going  to  the  window,  we  saluted  three 
other  friends,  who  were  at  their  windows.  Two 
of  them  were  Canova  and  Rezia,  who  were  to- 
gether ;  the  first  condemned  to  six  years'  severe 
imprisonment,  and  the  last  to  three  ;  the  third 
13 


194  MY    PRISONS. 

was  Dr.  Cesare  Armari,  who  during  some  months 
preceding  had  been  my  neighbour  in  the  Piom- 
bi.  He  had  not  been  condemned,  and  was  af- 
terwards released,  being  declared   innocent. 

Talking  with  one  and  another  was  a  pleas- 
ant distraction  of  my  thoughts  during  the  whole 
day  and  evening.  But  upon  going  to  bed,  the 
light  being  extinguished,  and  all  being  silent, 
it  was  not  possible  for  rae  to  sleep  ;  my  head 
burned,  my  heart  bled,  while  I  thought  of  my 
family.  —  Could  my  aged  parents  sustain  such 
a  misfortune  ?  Would  their  other  children  be 
able  to  console  them  ?  They  were  all  loved  as 
much  as  I  was,  and  were  more  worthy  than 
myself;  but  do  a  father  and  mother  ever  find 
in  the  children  who  remain  to  them,  a  compen- 
sation for  one  whom  they  have  lost  ? 

Would  that  I  had  thought  only  of  my  rela- 
tions, and  of  others  whom  I  loved  !  The  re- 
membrance of  them  afflicted  and  softened  me. 
But  my  mind  dwelt  also  on  the  smile  of  pleas- 
ure and  insult  which  I  had  imagined  in  the 
countenance  of  that  judge,  on  the  trials,  on 
the  causes  of  the  different  sentences,  on  po- 
litical passions,  and  on  the  fate  of  so  many  of 
my  friends,  .  .  .  and  I  could  no  longer  judge  with 


MY    PRISONS.  195 

indulgence  any  of  my  adversaries.  God  put 
me  to  a  severe  proof !  My  duty  was,  to  sus- 
tain it  with  fortitude.  I  could  not  !  I  would 
not  !  It  was  more  agreeable  to  me  to  hate 
than  to    forgive.       I  passed    an    infernal  night. 

In  the  morning  I  did  not  pray.  The  uni- 
verse appeared  to  me  the  work  of  a  power  at 
enmity  with  good.  I  had  before  been  a  ca- 
lumniator of  God  ;  but  I  could  not  have  be- 
lieved it  possible  for  me  to  become  so  again, 
and  that  within  a  few  hours  !  Julian  in  his 
greatest  fury  could  not  be  more  impious  than 
I  was.  He  who  dwells  on  thoughts  of  hatred, 
especially  when  overwhelmed  by  a  great  mis- 
fortune, which  ought  to  render  him  more  re- 
ligious, becomes  wicked,  even  though  he  may 
have  been  righteous.  Yes,  even  though  he 
may  have  been  righteous  ;  because  no  one 
can  hate  without  pride.  And  who  art  thou, 
oh  miserable  mortal,  to  pretend  that  none  of 
thy  follow  creatures  should  judge  thee  se- 
verely ?  to  pretend  that  no  one  can  injure  thee 
in  good  faith,  believing  that  he  acts  justly  ? 
to  complain,  if  God  leaves  thee  to  sufler  in 
one  way  rather  than  another  .'' 


196  MY    PRISONS. 

I  felt  unhappy  that  I  could  not  pray  5  but 
where  pride  reigns,  it  acknowledges  no  God 
but  itself, 

I  would  willingly  have  commended  my  deso- 
late family  to  a  Supreme  Supporter,  but  I  no 
longer  believed  in  Him. 


MY    PRISONS.  197 


CHAPTER    LIII. 

At  nine  in  the  forenoon,  Maroncelli  and  I 
were  put  into  a  gondola,  and  were  conducted 
to  the  city.  We  landed  at  the  palace  of  the 
Doge,  and  ascended  to  the  prisons.  We  were 
put  in  the  room  where  Signor  Caporali  had 
been  a  few  days  before.  I  do  not  know  whither 
he  was  removed.  Nine  or  ten  sbirri  were  placed 
as  a  guard,  and  we  walked  about,  waiting  for 
the  time  when  we  should  be  led  to  the  Piazza. 
We  waited  long  ;  it  was  not  till  noon  that  the 
inquisitor  appeared,  and  announced  to  us  that 
it  was  time  to  go.  The  physician  was  present, 
and  proposed  to  us  to  drink  a  glass  of  mint- 
water.  Wc  accepted  it,  and  were  grateful,  not 
so  much  for  that,  as  for  the  deep  compassion 
that  the  good  old  man  showed  for  us.  It  was 
Dr.  Dosmo.  The  head  sbirro  then  advanced, 
and  put  iiandcuffs  on  us.  We  followed  him, 
accompanied  ]>y  the  other  shirn. 

We  descended  the  magnificent  Giants'  Stairs, 
and  remembered  tlie  Doge  Marino  Faliero,  who 
was   there    beheaded.      We    entered   the   great 


198  MY    PRISONS. 

gateway  that  opens  from  the  court  of  the  pal- 
ace upon  the  Piazzetta,  and,  arriving  there, 
turned  to  the  left  towards  the  Lagoon.  In  the 
centre  of  the  Piazzetta  was  the  scaffold,  which 
we  were  to  ascend.  From  the  Giants'  Stairs  to 
this  scaffold,  stood  two  files  of  German  sol- 
diers,  between  which  we  passed. 

Having  mounted  the  scaffold,  we  looked 
around,  and  saw  the  immense  crowd  of  peo- 
ple filled  with  consternation.  In  several  places, 
at  a  distance,  other  soldiers  were  drawn  up. 
We  were  told,  that  cannon  with  lighted  matches 
were  stationed  on  every  side. 

And  it  was  in  this  very  Piazzetta  that  a  men- 
dicant had  said  to  me,  in  September,  1820,  a 
month  previous  to  my  arrest  ;  —  "  This  is  a 
place  of  misfortune  !  " 

I  recollected  the  mendicant,  and  thought  ;  — 
"  Who  knows  but  he  may  be  among  so  many 
thousands  of  spectators,  and  perhaps  recognise 
me  .?  " 

The  German  captain  called  out  to  us  to  turn 
toward  the  palace  and  look  up.  We  obeyed, 
and  saw  upon  the  open-  gallery  an  officer  of 
the  court  with  a  paper  in  his  hand.  It  was 
the  sentence.     He  read  it  in  a  loud  voice. 


MY    PRISONS.  199 

Profound  silence  reigned  until  he  came  to 
the  words,  condemned  to  death.  Then  a  general 
murmur  of  compassion  arose.  Silence  again 
succeeded,  that  the  reading  might  be  finished. 
New  murmurs  arose  at  the  words  ;  condemned 
to  severe  imprisonment  ;  Maroncelli  for  ticcnty 
years,  and  Pellico  for  fifteen. 

The  captain  made  a  sign  to  us  to  descend. 
We  did  so,  after  having  once  more  cast  our 
eyes  around  us.  We  again  entered  the  court, 
reascended  the  great  stairs,  and  returned  to 
the  room  from  which  we  had  been  taken  ;  our 
handcuffs  were  removed,  and  we  were  carried 
back  to  San  Michele. 


200  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    LIV. 

Those  who  had  been  condemned  before  us 
had  already  set  out  for  Laybach  and  Spielberg, 
accompanied  by  a  commissary  of  police.  The 
same  commissary  was  now  expected  back  to 
conduct  us  to  our  place  of  destination.  It  was 
a  month  before  he  arrived. 

During  this  interval  I  spent  my  time  in  talk- 
ing and  in  hearing  others  talk,  in  order  to  dis- 
tract my  mind.  Beside  this,  Maroncelli  read 
to  me  his  literary  compositions,  and  I  read  mine 
to  him.  One  evening  I  read  from  the  window 
Ester  d'  Engaddi  to  Canova,  Rezia,  and  Arma- 
ri,  and,  the  following  evening,  Iginia  d'  Jlsti. 

But  during  the  night  I  wept  and  groaned, 
and  slept  little  or  not   at  all. 

I  wished,  and  at  the  same  time  feai'ed,  to 
know  how  the  news  of  my  misfortune  had  been 
received  by  my  relations. 

At  last  a  letter  came  from  my  father.  What 
was  my  grief,  when  I  found  that  the  last  I  had 
addressed  to  him  had  not  been  immediately 
sent,  as  I  had  so  earnestly  begged  of  the  in- 
quisitor !     My  unhappy  father,  who  had  always 


MY    PRISONS,  201 

flattered  himself  that  I  should  be  acquitted,  one 
day  took  up  the  Milan  Gazette,  and  there  found 
my  sentence  !  He  himself  told  me  the  cruel 
circumstance,  and  left  me  to  imagine  the  an- 
guish of  his  soul.. 

While  I  felt  the  greatest  sorrow  for  him, 
for  my  mother,  and  for  all  my  family,  how,  at 
the  same  time  did  I  burn  Avith  anger,  that  my 
letter  had  not  been  more  speedily  forward- 
ed !  It  was  probably  accidental  ;  but  I  sup- 
posed there  was  infernal  malice  in  this  delay. 
I  believed  that  I  saw  in  it  a  refinement  of  bar- 
barity, a  desire  that  the  scourge  should  fall 
with  all  possible  severity  even  upon  my  inno- 
cent relations.  I  could  have  been  willing  to 
shed  a  sea  of  blood,  in  order  to  punish  this  fan- 
cied inhumanity. 

Now  that  I  judge  calmly,  I  do  not  think  my 
suspicions  probable.  The  delay  arose,  without 
doubt,  only  from  negligence. 

Furious  as  I  was,  I  was  greatly  distressed 
by  hearing  that  my  companions  proposed  to  re- 
ceive the  communion  at  Easter  before  their 
departure.  I  felt  that  I  ought  not  to  do  so, 
while  I  had  no  disposition  to  forgive.  Not  to 
receive  it  was  an  oflence  ;  yet  would  that  I 
had  given  this  offence  ! 


202  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    LV. 

The  commissary  at  last  arrived  from  Ger- 
many, and  came  to  tell  us  that  we  should  set 
out  in  two  days. 

"I  have  the  pleasure,"  he  added,  "  of  being 
able  to  give  you  one  consolation.  Returning 
from  Spielberg,  I  saw  at  Vienna  his  majesty 
the  Emperor,  who  told  me,  that  the  days  of 
your  punishment,  Gentlemen,  will  be  calculated 
of  twelve  hours'  length  instead  of  twenty-four. 
By  this  expression  he  intends  to  signify,  that 
the  punishment  is  diminished  one  half" 

This  diminution  was  never  officially  announced 
to  us  ;  but  there  was  no  probability  that  the 
commissary  spoke  an  untruth,  particularly  as 
he  did  not  give  us  the  intelligence  secretly,  but 
with  the   knowledge   of  the  commission. 

Yet  I  could  not  rejoice  at  this.  Seven  years 
and  a  half  in  chains  were  scarcely  less  horri- 
ble to  my  mind  than  fifteen.  It  appeared  to 
me  impossible  I  should  live  so  long. 

My  health  was  again  very  miserable.  I  suf- 
fered severe  pains  in  the  breast,  with  a  cough. 


MY    PRISONS.  203 

and  I  believed  that  my  lungs  were  affected.     I 
ate  but  little,  and  even  that  I  did  not  digest. 

Our  departure  was  in  the  night  between  the 
25th  and  26th  of  March.  We  were  permitted 
to  embrace  our  friend  Dr.  Cesare  Armari.  A 
sbirro  chained  us  transversely,  the  right  hand 
to  the  left  foot,  to  render  our  escape  impossi- 
ble. We  stept  into  a  gondola,  and  the  guards 
rowed  towards  Fusina. 

Arrived  there,  we  found  two  carriages  pre- 
pared. Rezia  and  Canova  went  in  one,  Ma- 
roncelli  and  I  in  the  other.  In  one  of  the  car- 
riages was  the  commissary  with  two  of  the 
prisoners,  in  the  other  an  under-commissary 
with  the  two  others.  Six  or  seven  guards  of 
the  police  armed  with  muskets  and  sabres,  part 
within  the  carriage,  and  part  on  the  box  of  the 
driver,  completed  the   convoy. 

To  be  forced  by  misfortune  to  leave  one's 
country  is  always  painful  ;  but  to  leave  it  in 
chains,  to  be  carried  to  a  horrible  climate, 
destined  to  languish  for  years  among  malefac- 
tors, is  something  so  distressing,  that  no  lan- 
guage can  describe  it. 

As  I  approached  the  Alps,  my  countrymen 
became  every  hour  more  and  more  dear  to  me, 


204  MY    PRISONS. 

in  consequence  of  the  pity  everywhere  ex- 
pressed for  us  by  those  we  met.  In  every 
city,  in  every  village,  wherever  houses  were 
scattered,  we  were  expected,  as  our  condem- 
nation had  been  publicly  known  for  some  weeks. 
In  several  places,  the  commissaries  and  the 
guards  could  scarcely  disperse  the  crowd  that 
surrounded  us.  It  is  wonderful  how  much 
sympathy  was  manifested  towards  us. 

In  Udine,  an  affecting  and  unexpected  inci- 
dent occurred.  Upon  our  arrival  at  the  inn, 
the  commissary  had  the  gate  of  the  court-yard 
shut,  in  order  to  keep  back  the  people.  He 
assigned  us  a  room,  and  directed  the  sexwants 
to  bring  supper  and  the  necessaries  for  sleep- 
ing. An  instant  afterwards  three  men  entei'ed 
with  mattresses  upon  their  shoulders.  What 
was  our  astonishment  upon  perceiving,  that  only 
one  of  them  was  in  the  service  of  the  house, 
and  that  the  others  were  two  of  our  acquaint- 
ances !  We  pretended  to  assist  them  in  putting 
down  the  mattresses,  and  secretly  took  them 
by  the  hand.  Tears  overflowed  from  their  hearts 
and  from  ours.  Oh  !  how  painful  it  was  to  us 
to  be  unable  to  shed  them  in  each  other's  arms  ! 


MY    PRISONS.  205 

The  commissaries  did  not  observe  this  af- 
fecting scene  ;  but  I  suspected  that  one  of  the 
guards  discovered  the  secret,  as  the  good  Da- 
rio  was  pressing  my  hand.  That  guard  was  a 
Venetian.  He  looked  Dario  and  me  in  the 
face,  turned  pale,  and  seemed  to  hesitate  wheth- 
er he  should  raise  his  voice  ;  but  he  was  si- 
lent and  turned  away  his  eyes,  as  if  he  had 
observed  nothing.  If  he  did  not  conjecture 
that  they  were  our  friends,  he  at  least  thought 
that  they  were  servants  with  whom  we  were 
acquainted. 


206  MY    PRISONS, 


CHAPTER    LVI. 

In  the  morning  we  left  Udine,  when  it  was 
scarcely  dawn.  The  affectionate  Dario  was  al- 
ready in  the  street,  wrapped  in  his  cloak  ;  he 
saluted  us  again,  and  followed  us  for  a  long 
time.  We  also  saw  a  coach  following  us  for 
two  or  three  miles.  Some  one  in  it  waved  a 
handkerchief.  At  last,  it  turned  back.  Who 
was  it  ?     We  had  our  suspicions. 

Oh  may  God  bless  all  those  generous  souls, 
who  are  not  ashamed  to  love  the  unfortunate. 
How  much  more  highly  do  I  prize  them,  since, 
during  the  period  of  my  calamity,  I  have  known 
some  cowards  who  have  renounced  me,  and 
thought  to  benefit  themselves,  by  echoing  re- 
proaches against  me.  But  these  latter  were  few, 
and  the  number  of  the  former  was  not  small. 

-I  deceived  myself  by  supposing,  that  the  com- 
passion which  we  found  in  Italy  would  cease, 
when  we  were  in  a  foreign  land.  The  good 
man  is  always  a  fellow  countryman  of  the  un- 
happy !  In  passing  through  the  Illyrian  and 
German   provinces,   it  was   the  same  as   in  our 


MV    PRISONS.  207 

own    country.       The    exclamation   was   univer- 
sal ;    "  Anne  Herren  !  "  (Poor  gentlemen  !) 

Sometimes  upon  entering  a  {ilace,  our  car- 
riage was  obliged  to  stop  until  it  was  decided 
where  we  should  lodge.  Then  the  populace 
pressed  around  us,  and  we  heard  words  of 
compassion,  which  truly  burst  from  the  heart. 
The  kindness  of  those  people  affected  me  still 
more  than  that  of  my  countrymen  had  done. 
Oh  !  how  grateful  I  was  to  them  all  !  What  a 
solace  is  the  compassion  of  our  fellow  men  ! 
How  pleasant  it  is  to  love  them  ! 

The  consolation  thus  afforded  me  effectually 
diminished  my  indignation  against  those  I  called 
my  enemies. 

"Who  knows,"  thought  I,  "  if  we  could  see 
each  other  face  to  face,  and  if  I  could  read 
their  souls,  and  they  mine  ;  who  knows,  but  I 
might  be  forced  to  acknowledge  that  there  is 
no  wickedness  in  them  ;  and  they,  that  there 
is  none  in  me  ?  Who  knows,  but  wc  should 
be  constrained  to  feel  mutual  compassion  and 
love  ?  " 

Much  too  often  men  detest  one  another,  be- 
cause they  arc  mutual  strangers,  when   if  they 


208  MY    PRISONS. 

would  interchange  a  few  words,  one  would  give 
his  arm  in  confidence  to  the  other. 

We  remained  one  day  at  Laybach,  where 
Canova  and  Rezia  were  separated  from  us,  and 
taken  to  the  castle.  It  is  easy  to  imagine  how 
painful  this  separation  was  to  all  four  of  us. 

The  evening  of  our  arrival  at  Laybach,  and 
the  following  day,  a  gentleman  had  the  polite- 
ness to  make  us  a  visit,  who  told  us,  if  I 
rightly  understood,  that  he  was  a  municipal 
secretary.  He  was  very  humane,  and  spoke 
of  religion  with  feeling  and  propriety.  I  sus- 
pected that  he  was  a  priest,  for  priests  in  Ger- 
many commonly  dress  exactly  like  laymen.  He 
had  one  of  those  ingenuous  countenances  that 
inspire  esteem.  I  regretted  that  I  could  not 
have  a  longer  acquaintance  with  him,  and  am 
sorry  to  have  been  so  careless  as  to  forget  his 
name. 

How  gratifying  it  would  also  be  to  me  to 
know  the  name  of  a  young  girl,  who,  in  a  vil- 
lage of  Styria,  followed  us  in  the  midst  of  a 
crowd,  and,  when  our  carriage  stopped  for  a  few 
minutes,  saluted  us  with  both  hands,  then  went 
away  with  a  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  resting 
upon   the    arm   of  a  melancholy  looking  young 


MY    PRISONS.  209 

man,  who  by  his  fair  hair  appeared  to  be  a  Ger- 
man, but  who  perhaps  had  been  in  Italy,  and 
had  become  attached  to  our  unhappy  nation  ! 

How  gratifying  it  would  be  to  me,  to  know  the 
names  of  each  one  of  those  venerable  fathers 
and  mothers  of  families,  who  in  different  places 
approached  us,  to  ask  if  we  had  parents  ;  and 
upon  being  answered  in  the  affirmative,  turned 
pale,  and  exclaimed  ;  "  Oh,  may  God  soon  re- 
store you  to  them  I  How  unhappy  they  must 
be    in   their   old   age  !  " 


14 


'210  x^IY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    LVII. 

We  arrived  at  the    place    of  our  destination 
on  the  10th  of  April. 

The  city  of  Brlinn  is  the  capital  of  Mora- 
via, and  the  residence  of  the  governor  of  the 
two  provinces  of  Moravia  and  Silesia.  It  is  sit- 
uated in  a  pleasant  valley,  and  has  a  certain 
appearance  of  wealth.  At  the  time  of  which  I 
speak,  there  were  many  flourishing  manufacto- 
ries of  cloth  in  the  place,  but  they  afterwards 
fell  into  decay.  The  population  was  about  thirty 
thousand. 

Near  the  walls,  on  the  west,  rises  a  hill,  on 
which  stands  the  ill-omened  fortress  of  Spiel- 
berg ;  once  the  palace  of  the  lords  of  Mora- 
via, now  the  severest  prison  of  the  Austrian 
government.  It  was  formerly  a  very  strong 
citadel  ;  but  the  French  bombarded  and  took  it 
at  the  time  of  the  famous  battle  of  Austerlitz, 
so  named  from  a  village  at  a  little  distance.  It 
was  not  repaired  so  as  to  serve  for  a  fortress  5 
but  part  of  the  outer  wall,  which  had  been  de- 
stroyed,   was    rebuilt.       About    three     hundred 


MY    PRISONS.  211 

convicts,  for  the  most  part  robbers  and  assas- 
sins, are  here  confined  ;  some  condemned  to  se- 
vere imprisonment  (carcere  duroj,  others  to 
very  severe   (durissimo). 

Those  condemned  to  severe  imprisonment  are 
obliged  to  labor,  to  wear  chains  on  the  feet,  to 
sleep  on  bare  boards,  and  to  eat  the  poorest 
food  imaginable.  Those  condemned  to  very  se- 
vere imprisonment  are  chained  more  heavily,  with 
a  band  of  iron  round  the  waist,  the  chain  be- 
ing fastened  in  the  wall,  so  that  they  can  walk 
only  just  by  the  side  of  the  boards  which  serve 
them  for  a  bed  ;  their  food  is  the  same,  al- 
though the  law  says,  bread  and  water. 

We,  prisoners  of  state,  were  condemned  to 
severe  imprisonment. 

As  we  ascended  the  hill,  we  turned  our  eyes 
back  to  bid  adieu  to  the  world,  uncertain  wheth- 
er the  gulf,  that  was  about  to  swallow  us  alive 
would  ever  be  unclosed  for  us.  I  was  tranquil 
in  appearance,  but  I  raged  within.  In  vain  I 
sought  calmness  from  philosophy  ;  philosophy 
could  afford  me  no  sufficient  support. 

I  left  Venice  in  bad  health,  and  had  been 
miserably  wearied  by  the  journey.  My  head 
and  my  whole  body  were  in  pain.     I  burned  with 


212  MY    PRISONS. 

fever.  Disease  heightened  my  exasperation, 
and  this  exasperation  probably  aggravated  my 
disease. 

We  were  consigned  to  the  superintendent  of 
Spielberg  ;  and  our  names  were  registered  by 
him  among  those  of  the  robbers.  The  imperial 
commissary  at  his  departure  embraced  us,  and 
was  affected  :  —  "I  particularly  recommend  do- 
cility to  you,  Gentlemen,"  said  he  ;  "the  small- 
est infraction  of  discipline  may  be  severely 
punished  by  the  superintendent." 

The  consignment  being  made,  Maroncelli  and 
I  were  conducted  to  a  subterranean  corridor, 
where  two  dark  rooms,  not  adjoining,  were  open- 
ed for  us.     Each  of  us  was  shut  up  in  his  den. 


MY    PRISONS.  213 


CHAPTER    LVIII. 

After  having  bid  farewell  to  so  many  ob- 
jects, when  only  two  friends,  equally  unfortu- 
nate, remain  together,  it  is  indeed  a  most  bit- 
ter thing  for  them  to  be  parted.  Maroncelli, 
when  he  left  me,  perceived  that  I  was  ill,  and 
mourned  for  me,  as  for  one  whom  he  should 
probably  never  more  see.  I  mourned  for  him, 
as  for  a  vigorous  plant  in  full  flower,  snatched 
perhaps  for  ever  from  the  vital  light  of  the 
sun.  And,  alas !  how  that  plant  withered  ! 
He  was  restored  to  the  light  ;  but  alas  !  in 
what  a  state  ! 

When  I  found  myself  alone  in  this  horrible 
den,  and  heard  the  bohs  fastened,  and  distin- 
guished, by  the  dim  light  which  fell  from  the 
small,  high  window,  the  bare  boards  given  me 
for  a  bed,  and  an  enormous  chain  in  the  wall, 
I  seated  myself  on  that  bed  shuddering  ;  I 
took  Tip  flic  chain,  and  measured  its  length, 
thinking  it  was  intended   for  me. 

Half  an  hour  after,  I  heard  the  keys  grate  ; 
the  door  was  opened  ;  the  head  gaoler  brought 
me  a  pitcher  of  water. 


214  MY    PRISONS. 

"This  is  to  drink,"  said  he,  with  a  rough 
voice  ;  "  and  to-morrow  morning  I  shall  bring 
the  bread." 

"Thank  you,  good  man." 

"  I  am  not  good,"  he  replied. 

"  The  worse  for  you,"  said  I  to  him,  irri- 
tated. "This  chain,"  I  added,  "is  pei-haps  for 
me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  do  not  keep  quiet,  if  you 
should  grow  furious,  or  speak  insolently.  But 
if  you  will  be  reasonable,  we  shall  only  put 
a  chain  on  your  feet.  The  smith  is  prepar- 
ing it." 

He  walked  slowly  up  and  down,  shaking  his 
vile  bunch  of  large  keys  ;  and  I,  with  angry 
eyes,  observed  his  gigantic,  meagre,  aged  fig- 
ure ;  and  though  the  features  of  his  face  were 
not  vulgar,  yet  every  thing  about  him  seemed 
to  me  to  exhibit  the  most  odious  expression  of 
brutal  severity. 

Oh  !  how  unjust  men  are,  when  they  judge 
from  appearances,  and  according  to  their  arro- 
gant prejudices  !  The  man,  who,  as  I  fancied, 
took  pleasure  in  shaking  his  keys,  to  make  me 
feel  his  power  more  bitterly,  he,  whom  I  con- 
sidered as  hardened  by  long  habits  of  cruelty. 


MY    PRISONS.  215 

was  full  of  compassionate  thoughts,  and  spoke 
in  so  rough  a  manner  only  to  conceal  his  feel- 
ings. He  wished  to  hide  them,  that  he  might 
not  appear  weak,  and  through  fear  of  my  being 
an  unworthy  object  ;  but  at  the  same  time, 
thinking  that  perhaps  I  was  more  unfortunate 
than  guilty,  he  was  desirous  of  manifesting  his 
sympathy. 

Annoyed  by  his  presence,  and  still  more  by 
his  assuming  the  air  of  a  master,  I  thought 
proper  to  humble  him,  by  saying  to  him  im- 
periously, as  if  addressing  a  servant,  "  Give 
me  the  water." 

He  looked  at  me  with  an  expression,  which 
seemed  to  say,  "Arrogant  man  !  you  must  here 
give  up  the  habit  of  ordering." 

But  he  was  silent,  he  bent  his  long  back, 
took  the  pitcher  from  the  floor,  and  gave  it  to 
me.  I  perceived,  as  I  took  it,  tliat  ho  trem- 
bled, and  attributing  this  trembling  to  his  old 
age,  a  mixture  of  pity  and  respect  tempered 
my  pride. 

"  How  old  arc  you  ?  "    said  I,  in  a  kind  tone. 

"  Seventy-four,  Sir.  I  have  in  times  past  seen 
many  misfortunes  of  my  own  and   of  others." 


216  MY    PRISONS. 

While  alluding  to  his  own  misfortunes  and 
those  of  others,  he  again  trembled  as  he  took 
back  the  pitcher ;  and  I  suspected  that  it  was  the 
effect,  not  merely  of  old  age,  but  of  some  gen- 
erous emotion  ;  and  the  thought  removed  from 
my  mind  the  dislike,  which  his  first  appearance 
had  excited. 

"What  is  your  name  ?  "  said  I. 

"A  freak  of  fortune.  Sir,  has  given  me  the 
name  of  a  great   man.     I  am   called  Schiller." 

Then  in  a  few  words  he  told  me  his  coun- 
try, and  his  origin,  what  wars  he  had  been  in, 
and  what  wounds  he  had  received. 

He  was  a  Swiss,  of  a  peasant's  family  ;  he 
had  fought  against  the  Turks  under  General 
Laudon  in  the  time  of  Maria  Theresa  and  of 
Joseph  the  Second,  and  afterward  in  all  the 
wars  of  Austria  against  France,  until  the  fall  of 
Napoleon. 


MY    PRISONS.  217 


CHAPTER    LIX. 

When  we  conceive  a  better  opinion  of  a 
person  of  whom  we  had  before  thought  ill, 
then  upon  observation  we  seem  to  discover  in 
his  countenance,  voice,  and  manners,  evident 
signs  of  goodness.  Is  this  discovery  a  reality  ? 
I  suspect  it  to  be  an  illusion.  The  same 
countenance,  voice,  and  manners  appeared  to 
us  a  little  while  before  to  give  evident  to- 
kens of  a  bad  character.  If  our  judgment  be 
changed  with  regard  to  the  moral  qualities, 
the  conclusions  of  our  physiognomical  science 
suddenly  change.  How  many  faces  do  we 
venerate,  because  we  know  they  belong  to  ex- 
cellent men,  which  would  not  seem  at  all  suit- 
ed to  inspire  veneration,  if  they  belonged  to 
other  mortals  !  And  so  on  the  other  hand.  I 
once  laughed  at  a  lady,  who  seeing  a  repre- 
sentation of  Catiline,  and  confounding  him  with 
Collatinus,  thought  she  discovered  in  it  the 
sublime  grief  of  Collatinus  for  the  death  of  Lu- 
cretia.     Yet  such  illusions  are  common. 


218  MY    PRISONS. 

I  do  not  mean  to  deny  that  there  may  be 
faces  of  good  men  which  bear  the  stamp  of 
goodness  stx'ongly  hnpressed  upon  them,  and 
that  there  may  be  faces  of  scoundrels  strongly 
marked  with  the  stamp  of  wickedness  ;  but  I 
maintain,  that  in  many  the  expression  is  doubt- 
ful. 

Old  Schiller  having  made  some  progress  in 
my  favor,  I  observed  him  more  attentively  than 
at  first,  and  he  was  no  longer  unpleasant  to  me. 
In  truth,  his  conversation,  notwithstanding  a 
certain  degree  of  roughness,  bore  marks  even 
of  a  noble  mind. 

"Being  a  corporal,"  said  he,  "they  have 
given  me  the  wretched  office  of  gaoler  as  an 
easier  duty  ;  but  God  knows  that  it  costs  me 
much  more  suffering  than  it  would  to  risk  my 
life  in  battle." 

I  repented  of  having  asked  him  for  water  so 
haughtily  a  short  time  before.  "  My  dear  Schil- 
ler," said  I  to  him,  pressing  his  hand,  "  you 
deny  it  in  vain  ;  I  know  that  you  are  a  good 
man,  and,  since  I  have  fallen  into  this  adver- 
sity, I  thank  Heaven  for  having  given  me  you 
for  my  keeper." 


BIY    PRISONS. 


219 


He  listened  to  my  words,  shook  his  head, 
and  then  replied,  rubbing  his  forehead  like  one 
who  has  an  unpleasant  thought  : 

"  I  am  a  harsh  man,  Sir  ;  I  was  made  to 
take  an  oath  v/hich  I  will  never  break.  I 
am  obliged  to  treat  all  prisoners,  having  no  re- 
gard to  their  rank,  without  indulgence,  without 
permitting  any  abuses,  and  particularly  so  pris- 
oners of  state.  The  Emperor  knows  what  he 
is  doing;    I  must  obey  him." 

"You  are  an  honest  man,  and  I  shall  re- 
spect what  you  think  due  to  conscience.  He 
who  acts  conscientiously  may  err  ;  but  he  is 
pure  before  God." 

"  Poor  gentleman  !  have  patience  and  pity  me. 
I  shall  be  hard  as  iron  in  the  performance  of 
my  duties  ;  but  my  heart ...  my  heart  is  full 
of  regret  that  I  cannot  relieve  the  unhappy. 
This  is  what  I  meant." 

We  were  both  affect'cd.  He  begged  me  to 
be  quiet,  not  to  become  furious,  as  condemned 
persons  often  do  ;  not  to  force  him  to  treat 
me  with  severity. 

He  then  assumed  a  rough  manner,  as  if  to 
conceal  from  mc  in  part  the  pity  which  he  felt, 
and  said, 


220  MY    PRISONS. 

"  Now  I  must  go." 

Then  he  turned  back,  asking  me  how  long  I 
had  coughed  so  badly,  and  vented  a  hearty  curse 
against  the  physician,  for  not  having  come  that 
very  evening  to  visit  me." 

"You  have  a  raging  fever,"  he  added;  "I 
can  perceive  that.  You  need  a  straw  bed  at 
least  ;  but,  till  the  physician  has  ordered  it,  we 
cannot  give  you  one." 

He  went  out  and  shut  the  door  ;  and  I  laid 
myself  upon  the  hard  boards,  feverish,  and  with 
severe  pain  in  the  breast  ;  but  less  irritated, 
less  at  enmity  with  men,  less  distant  from  God. 


MY    PRISONS.  221 


CHAPTER    LX. 

Is  the  evening  the  superintendent  came,  ac- 
companied by  Schiller,  another  corporal,  and 
two  soldiers,  to  make  an  examination. 

Three  daily  examinations  were  prescribed  j 
one  in  the  morning,  one  in  the  evening,  and 
one  at  midnight.  They  examined  every  corner 
of  the  prison,  every  trifling  article  ;  then  the 
inferiors  went  out,  and  the  superintendent  (who 
never  failed  to  come  morning  and  evening) 
stopped  to  converse  a  little  with  me. 

The  first  time  that  I  saw  this  troop,  a  strange 
thought  came  into  my  head.  Being  as  yet  ig- 
norant of  those  vexatious  usages,  and  delirious 
from  fever,  I  fancied  they  were  coming  to  kill 
me,  and  grasped  the  long  chain  which  was  near 
me,  to  break  the  head  of  the  first  who  should 
approach  me. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  said  the  superinten- 
dent ;  "  we  have  not  come  to  injure  you.  This 
is  a  formal  visit  to  all  the  prisoners,  to  assure 
ourselves  that  there  is  nothing  irregular." 


222  MY    PRISONS. 

I  hesitated  ;  but  when  I  saw  Schiller  ad- 
vance, and  in  a  friendly  manner  extend  his 
hand  to  me,  his  paternal  aspect  inspired  me 
with  confidence  ;  I  dropped  the  chain,  and  took 
his  hand  between  mine. 

"  Oh  !  how  it  burns  !  "  said  he  to  the  su- 
perintendent ;  "  a  straw  bed  might  at  least  be 
given  him  !  " 

He  pronounced  these  words  with  an  expres- 
sion of  such  genuine,  affectionate  sympathy,  that 
I  was  touched   by  it. 

The  superintendent  felt  my  pulse,  and  com- 
passionated me.  He  was  a  man  of  courteous 
manners,  but  dared  not  take  any  responsibility. 

"  All  is  rigorous  here,  even  for  me,"  he 
said.  "  If  I  do  not  execute  what  is  prescribed 
to  the  letter,  I  run  the  risk  of  being  removed 
from  my  place." 

Schiller  thrust  out  his  lips,  and,  I  would 
have  ventured,  thought  within  himself :  "  If  I 
were  superintendent,  I  would  not  carry  my  ap- 
prehensions so  far  ;  nor  could  the  taking  a  re- 
sponsibility, so  justified  by  necessity,  and  so 
harmless  to  the  government,  ever  be  consid- 
ered as  a  great  ofl^ence." 


MY    PRISONS.  223 

When  I  was  alone,  my  heart,  which  had  been 
for  some  time  incapable  of  deep  religious  feel- 
ings, was  softened,  and  I  prayed.  It  was  a 
prayer  for  blessings  upon  the  head  of  Schiller  ; 
and  I  added,  "  Grant,  that  I  may  discern  in 
others  some  qualities  which  may  attach  me  to 
them  ;  I  accept  all  the  torments  of  my  prison  ; 
but  oh  !  let  rne  love  !  Oh  !  deliver  me  from 
the  torment  of  hating  my  fellow-creatures  ! 

At  midnight  I  heard  many  steps  in  the  pas- 
sage ;  the  keys  grated,  the  door  was  opened. 
It  was  the  corporal  with  two  guards  for  the 
visit. 

"  Where  is  my  old  Schiller  ?  "  said  I  earn- 
estly.    He  had  remained  in  the  corridor. 

"  I  am  here,   I  am  here,"  he  answered. 

And  he  came  to  the  boards  on  which  I  was 
lying,  felt  my  pulse  again,  and  bent  down  anx- 
iously to  look  at  me,  like  a  father  over  the  bed 
of  his  sick  son. 

"  And  now  I  remember  it,  to-morrow  is 
Thursday  !  "  he  muttered  ;  "yes,  Thursday,  too 
surely  !  " 

"And  wliat  do  you  mean  by  tliat  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  physician  does  not  commonly 
'come  except  on  Monday,  Wednesday,  and  Fri- 


224  MY    PRISONS. 

day  morning,  and  to-morrow,  too  surely,  he 
will  not  come." 

"Do  not  disturb  yourself  about   that." 

"  Not  disturb  myself !  Not  disturb  myself ! 
Through  the  whole  city  there  is  nothing  spoken 
of,  but  the  arrival  of  you  gentlemen  ;  the  phy- 
sician cannot  be  ignorant  of  it.  Why  the 
devil  has  he  not  made  the  extraordinary  effort 
to  come   once  oftener  than  usual  ?  " 

"  Who  knows  but  he  may  come  to-morrow, 
though  it  is  Thursday.''" 

The  old  man  said  nothing  more  ;  but  he 
pressed  my  hand  with  such  brute  force  as  al- 
most to  maim  me.  But  though  I  was  hurt,  I 
took  pleasure  in  it.  Like  the  pleasure  which 
a  lover  feels,  if  by  chance  his  mistress,  as  she 
dances,  treads  upon  his  toe  ;  his  first  impulse 
may  be  to  cry  out  with  the  pain,  but  he  smiies 
instead,   and  esteems  himself  happy. 


MY    PRISONS.  225 


CHAPTER    LXI. 

0-V  Thursday  morning,  after  a  very  bad  night, 
weak,  and  with  my  bones  aching  from  lying  on 
the  boards,  I  was  seized  with  a  profuse  perspi- 
ration. The  visitation  was  made.  The  super- 
intendent was  not  present  ;  as  that  hour  was 
inconvenient  to  him,  he  came  somewhat  later. 

I  said  to  Schiller  ;  "  You  perceive  how  wet 
I  am  with  perspiration  ;  but  it  is  growing  cold 
on  my  skin.  I  must  change  my  linen  imme- 
diately." 

"  It  cannot  be  I  "  he  exclaimed  in  a  rougii 
tone. 

But  he  secretly  made  a  sign  to  me  with  his 
eyes  and  hand.  The  corporal  and  the  guai'ds 
went  out,  and,  just  as  he  shut  the  door,  he 
turned  to  make  me  another  sign. 

Shortly  after  he  came  back,  bringing  me  one 
of  his  own  shirts,  twice  the  length  of  my  body. 

"  It  is  a  little  too  long  for  you,"  said  he, 
"but  I  have  no  other  here  now." 

"  I  thank  you,  friend  ;  but,  as  I  brought  to 
Spielberg  a  trunk  full  of  linen,  I  hope  that  the 


226  MY    PRISONS. 

use  of  my  shirts  will  not  be  refused  me  ;  have 
the  kindness  to  go  and  ask  the  superintendent 
for  one  of  them," 

"  It  is  not  permitted  us  to  allow  you  the  use 
of  any  of  your  linen.  Every  Saturday  one  of 
the  prison  shirts  will  be  given  to  you,  as  to 
the  other  convicts." 

"Good  old  man,"  said  I,  "you  see  in  what 
a  state  I  am  ;  it  is  little  likely  that  I  shall  ever 
go  alive  from  this  place.  I  can  never  make 
you  any  recompense." 

"  For  shame  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  for  shame  ! 
to  speak  of  recompense  to  one,  who  can  ren- 
der you  no  services  !  to  one,  who  can  scarcely 
by  stealth  lend  a  sick  man  wherewith  to  dry 
his  body,  when   dripping   with   perspiration  !  " 

And  he  ungraciously  drew  his  long  shirt  over 
me,  went  out  muttering,  and  shut  the  door  with 
the  violence  of  an  angry  man. 

About  two  hours  after  he  brought  me  a  piece 
of  brown  bread. 

"This,"  said  he,  "is  your  portion  for  two 
days." 

Then  he  began  to  walk  about  in  a  passion. 

"What  ails  you  ?"  said  I.  "Are  you  an- 
gry with  me  ?  I  have  accepted  the  shirt  you 
favored  me  with." 


MY    PRISONS.  227 

"  I  am  angry  with  the  physician,  who  might 
have  deigned  to  come,  although  it  is  Thurs- 
day !  " 

"Patience  !  "  said  I. 

I  said  "Patience!"  but  I  strove  in  vain  to 
rest  upon  boards  without  even  a  pillow  ;  all 
my  bones  ached. 

At  eleven  o'clock  dinner  was  brought  me  by 
one  of  the  criminals,  accompanied  by  Schiller. 
It  was  contained  in  two  ii'on  pots,  in  one  of 
which  was  some  very  bad  broth  ;  in  the  other 
a  mess  of  beans,  dressed  with  a  kind  of  sauce 
of  which  the  mere  smell  was  disgusting. 

I  attempted  to  swallow  some  spoonfuls  of  the 
broth  ;  but  it  was  impossible." 

Schiller  kept  saying,  "  Take  courage,  try  to 
accustom  yourself  to  this  food  ;  or  it  will  be 
with  you  as  it  has  been  with  others,  who,  eat- 
ing nothing  but  a  little  bread,  have  in  that  way 
died  of  exhaustion. 

At  last  on  Friday  morning  Dr.  Bayer  came. 
He  found  mo  feverish,  ordered  me  a  straw 
bed,  and  insisted  that  I  should  be  taken  from 
that  subterraneous  cell,  and  carried  to  the  floor 
above.  It  could  not  be  ;  there  was  no  room 
vacant.      But,    a   report    being    made   to   Count 


228  MY    PRISONS. 

Mitrowski,  governor  of  the  two  provinces  of  Mo- 
ravia and  Silesia,  resident  at  Briinnj  he  replied, 
that,  considering  the  severity  of  my  illness,  the 
directions  of  the  physician  must  be  followed. 

Some  light  shone  into  the  room  that  was 
now  given  me ;  and  climbing  up  to  the  bars 
of  the  narrow  window,  I  saw  the  valley  be- 
neath, a  part  of  the  city  of  Briinn,  a  suburb 
with  many  small  gardens,  the  cemetery,  the 
little  lake  of  the  Carthusian  convent,  and  the 
woody  hills  which  separated  us  from  the  famous 
field   of  Austerlitz. 

The  view  enchanted  me.  Oh  !  how  delight- 
ed I  should  have  been,  could  I  have  shared  it 
with  Maroncelli  ! 


MY    PRISONS.  229 


CHAPTER    LXII. 

Meanwhile  our  prison  dresses  were  making. 
About  five  days  from  this  time  mine  was  brought 
me. 

It  consisted  of  a  pair  of  pantaloons  of  coarse 
cloth,  the  right  side  grey,  the  left  of  orange 
color  ;  a  waistcoat  of  the  two  colors,  disposed 
in  the  same  way  ;  and  a  jacket,  likewise  of 
these  colors,  but  arranged  in  the  opposite  way, 
that  is  to  say,  the  orange  on  the  right,  and 
the  grey  on  the  left.  The  stockings  were  of 
coarse  wool,  the  shirt  of  tow  cloth  full  of 
shives,  a  real  sack-cloth  ;  round  the  neck  was 
a  piece  of  cloth  like  the  shirt.  The  shoes  were 
of  uncolored  leather,  laced.     The  hat  was  white. 

This  livery  was  completed  by  chains  on  the 
feet,  that  is  to  say,  a  chain  from  one  leg  to 
the  other,  the  links  of  which  were  secured  by 
rivets,  which  were  fastened  on  an  anvil.  The 
smith  who  performed  this  operation  on  me  said 
to  a  guard,  supposing  that  I  did  not  under- 
stand German,  "  111  as  he  is,  he  might  have 
been   spared   this   sport  ;    two   months   will   not 


230  MY    PRISONS. 

pass  before   the   angel   of  death   will    come    to 
deliver  him." 

'^  Mochte  es  seyn  !  (May  it  be  so  !)  "  said  I 
to  him,  tapping  him  on  the  shoulder  with  my 
hand. 

The   poor   man   started   and  was   confused  ; 
then  he  said  ; 

"  I  hope  I  may  not  be  a  true  prophet,  and 
I  wish  you  may  be  delivered  by  quite  another 
angel." 

"  Does  it  not  seem  to  you,  that  rather  than 
live  thus,  even  the  angel  of  death  would  be 
welcome  ?  " 

He  gave  a  nod  of  assent,  and  went  out,  com- 
miserating me. 

In  truth  I  should  have  willingly  ceased  to 
live  ;  but  I  was  not  tempted  to  commit  suicide. 
I  confidently  expected  that  the  disease  of  my 
lungs  would  soon  afford  me  release.  But  this 
was  not  the  will  of  God,  The  fatigue  of  the 
journey  had  made  me  very  ill  ;  repose  gave 
me  some  relief 

A  moment  after  the  smith  had  gone,  I  heard 
his  hammer  sound  upon  the  anvil  in  one  of  the 
subterranean  dungeons.  Schiller  was  still  in 
my  room. 


MY    PRISONS.  231 

"Hear  those  strokes,"  said  I  ;  "they  are 
surely  putting  the  fetters  on  poor  Maroncelli." 
And,  as  I  said  this,  my  heart  was  so  op- 
pressed, that  I  staggered  and  should  have  fallen, 
if  the  good  old  man  had  not  supported  me.  I 
remained  more  than  half  an  hour  in  a  state 
that  appeared  like  fainting,  yet  was  not.  I 
could  not  speak,  my  pulse  scarcely  beat,  a  cold 
sweat  covered  me  from  head  to  foot  ;  yet  I 
heard  all  Schiller's  words,  and  had  a  most  lively 
remembrance  of  the  past  and  knowledge  of  the 
present. 

The  orders  of  the  superintendent  and  the 
vigilance  of  the  guards  had  hitherto  preserved 
silence  in  all  the  neighbouring  cells.  Three 
or  four  times  I  had  heard  the  sound  of  an 
Italian  air  ;  but  it  was  quickly  suppressed  by 
the  calls  of  the  sentinels.  Of  these  there  were 
several  placed  on  the  terrace  under  our  win- 
dows, and  one  in  the  corridor,  who  went  back 
and  forth  listening  continually  at  the  doors,  and 
looking  through  the  openings  in  them  to  prohibit 
all  noise. 

One  day,  towards  evening,  (every  time  I 
think  of  it  the  palpitations  I  then  felt  are  re- 
newed,)   the    sentinels  by   some  liai)py   accident 


232  MY    PRISONS. 

were  less  attentive,  and  I  heard  an  air  from 
beginning  to  end,  sung  in  rather  a  low  but 
clear  voice,  in  the  cell  adjoining  my  own. 

Oh  !  what  joy,  what  agitation  I  felt  ! 
I   rose    from   my   straw    bed,   listened   atten- 
tively, and  when  it  ceased  I  could  not  restrain 
my  tears. 

"Who  are  you,  unfortunate  man?"  I  ex- 
claimed ;  "  who  are  you  ?  Tell  me  your  name. 
I  am  Silvio  Pellico." 

"Oh  Silvio!"  cried  my  neighbour.  "I  do 
not  know  you  personally,  but  I  have  loved  you 
for  a  long  time.  Come  near  to  the  window, 
and  let  us  talk  to  each  other  in  spite  of  the 
ruffians." 

I  climbed  up  to  the  window  ;  he  told  me  his 
name,  and  we  exchanged  a  few  words  of  kind- 
ness. 

It  was  Count  Antonio  Oi'oboni,  a  native  of 
Fratta,  near  Rovigo,  a  young  man  twenty-nine 
years  of  age. 

Alas  !  we  were  soon  interrupted  by  the  men- 
acing shouts  of  the  sentinels;  The  one  who 
was  in  the  corridor  knocked  loudly  with  the 
but-end  of  his  musket,  first  at  Oroboni's  door, 
then    at   mine.     We   would   not,   we    could   not 


MY    PRISONS.  233 

obey  ;  but  soon  the  curses  of  those  guards 
compelled  us  to  cease,  after  agreehig  to  re- 
sume our  conversation  when  the  sentinels  should 
be  changed. 


234  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    LXIII. 

We  hoped,  and  so  in  fact  it  happened,  that 
if  we  spoke  lower  we  should  be  able  to  hear 
each  other,  and  that  sometimes  there  would  be 
compassionate  sentinels,  who  would  feign  not 
to  perceive  our  talking.  By  repeated  trials  we 
learned  to  speak  in  a  voice  so  low,  that,  al- 
though it  was  sufficient  for  our  ears,  it  either 
was  not  overheard,  or  might  be  suffered  to  go 
unnoticed.  Sometimes,  indeed,  it  happened, 
that  we  had  listeners  of  more  acute  hearing, 
and  sometimes  we  forgot  to  be  discreet  in 
regulating  our  voices.  Then  the  sentinels  again 
began  to  shout  at  us,  and  to  knock  at  our 
doors  ;  and  what  was  worse  than  this,  was  the 
anger  of  poor  Schiller  and  of  the  superinten- 
dent. 

By  degrees  we  perfected  ourselves  in  all  the 
necessary  precautions  5  that  is  to  say,  we  con- 
versed at  certain  times  of  the  day  rather  than 
at  others,  only  when  particular  guards  were  on 
duty,  and  always  in  a  very  low  voice.  Either 
from  the  skill  we  had  acquired,  or  from  a  habit 


MY   PRISONS.  235 

of  indulgence  in  others  which  had  been  gradu- 
ally formed,  we  were  able  at  last  to  converse 
a  great  deal  every  day,  with  little  further  re- 
proof from  those  who  were  placed  over  us. 

We  formed  a  tender  friendship.  He  gave  me 
an  account  of  his  life,  and  I  gave  him  an  ac- 
count of  mine.  The  sufferings  and  consola- 
tions of  one  became  the  sufferings  and  con- 
solations of  the  other.  Oh  !  what  comfort  we 
gave  to  each  other  !  How  often  in  the  morn- 
ing, after  a  sleepless  night,  each  of  us  would  go 
to  the  window  and  salute  his  friend,  and  at  the 
sound  of  that  welcome  voice  feel  the  sadness 
of  his  heart  alleviated,  and  his  courage  re- 
doubled !  We  were  mutually  persuaded  of  our 
usefulness  to  each  other,  and  this  assurance 
made  us  strive  to  outdo  each  other  in  kind 
thoughts,  and  gave  us  that  satisfaction  which 
man  has,  even  in  misery,  when  he  can  benefit 
his  fellow  creatures. 

After  every  conversation  we  felt  a  desire  of 
renewing  it  and  entering  into  further  explana- 
tions. Our  intercourse  was  a  vital,  perennial 
stimulus  to  the  intellect,  the  memory,  the  im- 
agination, and  the  heart. 


236  MY    PRISONS. 

At  first,  recollecting  Julian,  I  distrusted  the 
constancy  of  this  new  friend.  "  Hitherto," 
thought  I,  "  nothing  has  occurred,  to  produce 
disagreement  ;  but,  one  day  or  other,  I  may 
in  some  way  displease  him,  and  then  he  will 
give  me  up. 

This  suspicion  very  soon  vanished.  Our  opin- 
ions coincided  upon  all  essential  points.  Ex- 
cept that  to  a  noble  soul,  glowing  with  gen- 
erous feelings,  unconquered  by  misfortune,  he 
united  the  most  sincere  and  entire  faith  in  Chris- 
tianity ;  while  in  me  this  faith  had  become  wa- 
vering, and  sometimes  I  thought  it  entirely  ex- 
tinct. 

He  combated  my  doubts  with  the  most  just 
reflections,  and  with  great  affection.  I  felt  that 
he  was  right,  and  yielded  to  him  ;  but  my 
doubts  returned.  This  happens  to  all  who  have 
not  the  Gospel  in  their  hearts,  to  all  who  hate 
others,  and  grow  proud  of  themselves.  The 
mind  perceives  the  truth  for  an  instant  ;  but, 
as  the  truth  is  not  agreeable,  it  disbelieves  it 
an  instant  after,  forcing  itself  to  turn  its  view 
elsewhere. 

Oroboni  powerfully  directed  my  attention  to 
the  motives,  which  man  has  for  indulgence  to- 


MY    PRISONS.  237 

wards  his  enemies.  I  never  spoke  to  him  of 
any  one  I  disUked,  that  he  did  not  skilfully 
undertake  to  defend  him  ;  and  he  influenced 
me  not  only  by  words,  but  by  his  example. 
Several  individuals  had  injured  him  ;  he  la- 
mented it,  but  he  forgave  them  all  ;  and  if 
it  were  possible  to  tell  me  something  praise- 
worthy of  any  one  of  them,  he  did  so  willingly. 
The  irritation  which  had  mastered  me,  and 
had  made  me  irreligious  from  the  time  of  my 
condemnation,  still  lasted  for  some  weeks ;  then 
it  entirely  ceased.  The  virtue  of  Oroboni  had 
charmed  me.  Earnestly  endeavouring  to  attain 
it,  I  at  least  began  to  follow  in  his  steps.  Then 
I  could  again  pray  sincerely  for  all  men,  and 
no  longer  hated  any  one  ;  my  doubts  about  re- 
ligion vanished.  Ubi  charitas  ct  amor,  Dens  ibi 
est.  (Where  charity  and  love  are,  there  is 
God.) 


238  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER   LXIV. 

To  say  the  truth,  if  our  punishment  was  very 
severe,  and  likely  to  irritate  us,  it  was  at  the 
same  time  our  rare  fortune  to  see  none  but 
well-disposed  persons.  They  could  not  better 
our  condition  except  by  their  kind  and  respect- 
ful manners  ;  but  these  were  practised  by  all. 
If  there  was  some  roughness  in  old  Schiller, 
how  was  it  compensated  for  by  the  nobleness 
of  his  heart  !  Even  the  miserable  Kunda,  (one 
of  the  convicts,  who  brought  us  dinner,  and 
three  times  a  day  water,)  would  fain  have  us  see 
that  he  pitied  us.  He  swept  our  rooms  twice 
a  week.  One  morning,  while  he  was  sweeping, 
he  seized  the  moment  when  Schiller  had  gone 
a  few  steps  from  the  door,  to  offer  me  a  piece 
of  white  bread.  I  did  not  accept  it,  but  cor- 
dially pressed  his  hand.  My  pressing  his  hand 
affected  him.  He  said  to  me  in  bad  German, 
(he  was  a  Pole,)  "  Sir,  they  give  you  so  little 
to  eat  now,  that  you  surely  must  suffer  from 
hunger." 

I  assured  him  that  I  did  not  ;  but  I  assured 
him  of  what  was  incredible. 


MY    PRISONS.  239 

The  physician,  seeing  that  none  of  us  could 
eat  the  kind  of  food  that  had  been  first  given 
us,  put  us  all  upon  what  was  called  a  quarter 
'portion,  that  is,  the  food  of  the  hospital.  This 
was,  some  very  thin  soup,  three  times  a  day, 
a  small  piece  of  roast  lamb  that  might  be  swal- 
lowed at  a  mouthful,  and  perhaps  three  ounces 
of  white  bread.  As  my  health  went  on  improv- 
ing, my  appetite'  increased,  and  that  quarter 
was  really  too  little.  I  tried  to  return  to  the 
food  for  the  healthy,  but  I  gained  nothing  by 
the  exchange  ;  since  this  was  so  disgusting 
that  I  could  not  eat  it.  It  was  absolutely  ne- 
cessary that  I  should  keep  to  the  quarter.  For 
more  than  a  year  I  knew  by  experience  what 
are  the  torments  of  hunger.  And  these  torments 
some  of  my  companions  suffered  still  more  se- 
verely ;  because,  being  more  robust  than  I,  they 
had  been  accustomed  to  take  a  greater  quan- 
tity of  food.  I  know  from  some  of  them,  that 
they  accepted  bread  from  Schiller  and  from  the 
other  two  guards  wlio  were  employed  about  us, 
and  even  .from  the  good  Kunda. 

The  barber,  a  young  man  who  attended  us 
as  surgeon,  said  to  me  one  day,  "  It  is  reported 
in  the  city  that  they  give  you  gentlemen  but 
little  to  cat." 


240  MY    PRISONS. 

"It  is  very  true,"  said  I  frankly. 

The  following  Saturday,  (he  came  every  Sat- 
urday,) he  wanted  to  give  me  secretly  a  large 
loaf  of  white  bread.  Schiller  pretended  not  to 
see  him  offer  it.  Had  I  listened  to  my  stom- 
ach, I  should  have  accepted  it  ;  but  I  refused 
decidedly,  that  the  poor  young  man  might  not 
be  tempted  to  repeat  his  gift,  which  in  time 
might  have  occasioned  him  inconvenience. 

For  the  same  reason  I  refused  the  offers  of 
Schiller.  Many  times  he  brought  me  a  piece 
of  boiled  meat,  begging  me  to  eat  it,  and  pro- 
testing that  it  cost  him  nothing,  that  it  had 
been  left,  that  he  knew  not  what  to  do  with  it, 
that  he  should  have  to  give  it  to  some  one 
else,  if  I  would  not  take  it.  I  could  have 
seized  and  devoured  it  ;  but  if  I  had  taken  it, 
would  he  not  have  wished  to  give  me  some- 
thing every  day  ? 

Only  twice,  once  when  he  brought  me  a  plate 
of  cherries,  and  once  some  pears,  the  sight  of 
the  fruit  fascinated  me  irresistibly.  But  I  re- 
pented of  having  taken  them,  for  the  very  rea- 
son, that  from  that  time  he  never  ceased  to 
make  me  similar  offers. 


MY    PRISONS.  241 


CHAPTER    LXV. 

It  was  from  the  first  an  established  rule, 
that  each  of  us  should  be  permitted  to  walk  for 
an  hour  twice  a  week.  This  relaxation  was 
afterwards  granted  every  other  day,  and  at  a 
later  period,  every  day,  except  the  holidays. 

We  were  each  taken  to  walk  separately,  be- 
tween two  guards  with  muskets  on  their  shoul- 
ders. I,  being  at  the  head  of  the  corridor, 
passed,  when  I  went  out,  the  cells  of  all  the 
Italian  state  criminals,  except  Maroncelli,  who 
alone  languished  below. 

"  A  pleasant  walk  to  you  !  "  each  whispered 
through  the  opening  in  his  door  ;  but  I  was  not 
allowed  to  stop  to  salute  any  one. 

Wo  descended  a  staircase,  passed  through 
a  large  court,  and  went  upon  a  terrace,  situ- 
ated to  the  south,  whence  the  city  of  Briinn, 
and  much  of  the  surrounding  country,  were  to  be 
seen. 

In  the  court  above  mentioned  there  were 
always  many  of  the  common  criminals,  going 
to  or  returning  from  their  labor,  and  talking 
16 


242  MY    PRISONS. 

together  as  they  passed  along  in  company. 
Among  them  were  several  Italian  robbers,  who 
saluted  me  with  great  respect,  and  said  among 
themselves,  "  He  is  not  a  rogue  like  us  ;  yet 
his  imprisonment  is  more  severe  than  ours." 

In  fact,  they  had  much  more  liberty  than  I 
had. 

I  heard  these  and  other  expressions,  and  I 
returned  their  salutations  with  cordiality.  One 
of  them  once  said  to  me,  "  Your  greeting,  Sig- 
noi'e,  does  me  good.  Perhaps  you  see  some- 
thing in  my  face  that  is  not  very  bad.  An 
unhappy  passion  led  me  to  commit  a  crime  ;  but 
oh  Signore,  I  am  not,  indeed  I  am  not  a  vil- 
lain !  " 

And  he  burst  into  tears.  I  held  out  my  hand 
to  him,  but  he  could  not  take  it.  My  guards, 
not  from  bad  feeling,  but  in  obedience  to  their 
orders,  repulsed  him.  They  might  not  allow 
any  one  to  approach  me.  The  words  that  those 
criminals  intended  for  me,  they  for  the  most 
part  said,  as  it  were,  among  themselves  ;  and, 
if  my  two  soldiers  perceived  that  they  were 
directed  to  me,  they  ordered  silence. 

Men  of  various  conditions,  not  resident  in  the 
castle,    who    came   to   visit   the    superintendent. 


MY    PRISONS.  243 

or  the  chaplain,  or  the  sergeant,  or  some  of 
the  corporals,  likewise  passed  through  the  court. 
"There  is  one  of  the  Italians  !  There  is  one 
of  the  Italians  !  "  said  they  in  a  low  voice, 
stopping  to  look  at  me  ;  and  often  I  heard 
them  say  in  German,  which  they  thought  I 
did  not  understand,  "  That  poor  gentleman  will 
never  grow  old;    he  has  death  in  his  face." 

In  fact,  after  being  at  first  in  better  health, 
I  languished  from  the  want  of  food,  and  again 
suffered  from  frequent  attacks  of  fever.  I  was 
scarcely  able  to  drag  my  chain  to  the  place 
for  walking,  and  there  I  threw  myself  upon  the 
turf,  where  I  commonly  remained  till  my  hour 
was  passed. 

The  guards  stood  or  seated  themselves  near 
me,  and  wc  talked  together.  One  of  them, 
named  Krai,  was  a  Bohemian,  who,  although  be- 
longing to  a  poor  peasant's  family,  had  received 
a  certain  degree  of  education,  and  luul  im- 
proved himself,  as  much  as  he  had  been  able  ; 
reflecting  with  great  discernment  upon  the  things 
of  the  world,  and  reading  all  the  books  which 
fell  into  his  hands.  He  was  acquainted  with 
Klopstock,  Wieland,  Goethe,  and  Schiller,  and 
with   many    other    good   German   writers.      He 


244  MY    PRISONS. 

knew  a  great  number  of  passages  by  heart,  and 
repeated  them  with  intelligence  and  feeling. 
The  other  guard  was  a  Pole,  named  Kubitski, 
ignorant,  but  respectful  and  cordial.  Their 
company  was  very  pleasant  to  me. 


MY    PRISONS.  245 


CHAPTER    LXVI. 

At  one  end  of  this  terrace  were  the  rooms 
of  the  superintendent  ;  at  the  other,  a  corporal 
lived  with  his  wife  and  infant  son.  Whenever 
I  saw  any  one  come  out  of  these  dwellings,  I 
rose  up  and  approached  the  person  or  persons 
who  appeared,  and  was  loaded  with  tokens  of 
courtesy  and  compassion. 

The  wife  of  the  superintendent  had  long  been 
ill,  and  was  slowly  declining.  Sometimes  she 
was  brought  upon  a  sofa  into  the  open  air.  It 
is  impossible  to  describe  how  much  she  was 
affected,  while  expressing  to  me  the  compassion 
she  felt  for  us  all.  Her  countenance  was  sweet 
and  timid  ;  yet,  although  timid,  she  now  and 
then  fixed  her  eyes  with  intense  inquiring  con- 
fidence  upon  the  face  of  him  who  spoke  to  her. 

I  once  said  to  her  smiling,  "  Do  you  know. 
Madam,  that  you  resemble  a  person  who  was 
dear  to  me  ^  " 

She  blushed,  and  answered  with  serious  and 
lovely  simplicity,  "  Do  not  then  forget  me  when 


246  MY    PRISONS. 

I  am  dead  ;  pray  for  my  poor  soul,  and  for  the 
little  children  that  I  leave  upon  earth." 

From  that  day  she  could  not  quit  her  bed  ; 
I  saw  her  no  more.  She  languished  for  some 
months,  and  then  died. 

She  had  three  children,  beautiful  as  Loves, 
and  one  yet  an  infant.  Their  poor  mother 
often  embraced  them  in  my  presence  and  said  ; 
"Who  knows  who  will  become  their  mother 
after  me  !  Whoever  she  may  be,  the  Lord  give 
her  the  heart  of  a  mother  even  for  children 
to  whom  she  did  not  give  birth!"  —  And  she 
wept. 

A  thousand  times  I  have  remembered  that 
prayer  and  those  tears. 

When  she  was  no  more,  I  often  embraced 
those  children,  I  was  affected,  and  repeated 
that  maternal  prayer.  I  thought  of  my  own 
mother,  and  of  the  ardent  prayers,  which,  with- 
out doubt,  her  affectionate  heart  was  offering 
for  me,  and  I  exclaimed  with  sobs  ;  "  Oh  ! 
how  much  more  happy  is  the  mothei',  who,  dy- 
ing, leaves  her  children  young,  than  she,  who, 
after  having  brought  them  up  with  infinite  care, 
sees  them  torn  from  her  !  " 


MY    PRISONS.  247 

Two  good  old  women  were  commonly  with 
those  children  ;  one  was  the  mother  of  the  su- 
perintendent, the  other  his  aunt.  They  were 
desirous  to  know  all  my  story,  and  I  related  it 
to  them  briefly. 

"How  sorry  we  are,"  said  they,  with  an 
expression  of  real  feeling,  "  that  we  can  do 
nothing  to  help  you  !  But  you  may  be  certain 
that  we  shall  pray  for  you,  and  should  you  at 
any  time  receive  your  pardon,  it  will  be  a 
holiday  for  all  our  family." 

The  former  of  them,  whom  I  saw  most  fre- 
quently, possessed  a  sweet  and  uncommon  power 
of  eloquence  in  giving  consolation.  I  listened 
to  her  with  filial  gratitude,  and  her  words  re- 
mained fixed  in  my  heart. 

She  said  things  with  which  I  was  familiar, 
yet  they  struck  me  as  new  ;  "  That  misfortune 
does  not  degrade  man,  but  rather  elevate  him, 
if  he  be  true  to  himself;  that,  if  we  could  enter 
into  the  counsels  of  God,  we  should  often  see 
that  the  conqueror  was  to  be  compassionated 
rather  than  the  conquered,  the  joyful  rather 
than  the  sad,  and  the  rich  rather  than  he  who 
is  despoiled  of  all  ;  that  the  especial  friendship 
shown  by  the  God-man   for  the   unhappy  is  the 


248  MY    PRISONS. 

expression  of  a  great  truth,  and  that  we  should 
glory  in  the  cross,  since  it  was  borne  by  a  di- 
vine being." 

But  these  two  good  old  women,  whom  I  saw 
with  so  much  pleasure,  were  obliged  in  a  short 
time,  for  family  reasons,  to  leave  Spielberg  ;  the 
children  too  no  longer  came  upon  the  terrace. 
How  much  these  losses  afflicted  me  ! 


MY    PRISONS.  249 


CHAPTER    LXVII. 

The  inconvenience  of  the  chains  on  my  feet, 
by  preventing  me  from  sleeping,  contributed  to 
destroy  my  health.  Schiller  wished  that  I  should 
protest  against  them,  and  declared  that  the  phy- 
sician ought  to  have  them  taken  off. 

For  a  little  while  I  did  not  listen  to  him, 
then  I  yielded  to  his  advice,  and  said  to  the 
physician,  that,  in  order  to  enjoy  again  the 
benefit  of  sleep,  I  begged  him  to  have  me  un- 
chained, at  least  for  a  few  days. 

The  physician  replied,  that  my  fever  had  not 
yet  reached  such  a  height  as  to  put  it  in  his 
power  to  gratify  me  ;  and  that  it  was  necessary  I 
should  accustom  myself  to  the  fetters. 

I  was  indignant  at  this  answer,  and  vexed 
that  I  had  made  the  useless  request. 

"  See  what  I  have  gained  by  following  your 
urgent  advice,"  said  I  to  Schiller. 

I  must  have  said  these  words  uncivilly 
enough  ;  the  rough,  honest  fellow  was  offended 
by  them. 


250  MY    PRISONS. 

"  It  displeases  you,"  he  exclaimed,  "  to  be 
exposed  to  a  refusal,  and  it  displeases  me  that 
you  should  be  so  haughty  towards  me." 

Then  he  went  on  with  a  long  sermon.  "  The 
proud  make  their  greatness  consist  in  not  ex- 
posing themselves  to  refusals,  in  not  accepting 
favors,  and  in  being  ashamed  of  a  thousand 
trifles.  Mle  Eseleyen  !  It  is  all  nonsense  !  vain 
pride  !  ignorance  of  ti'ue  dignity  !  True  dig- 
nity consists  in  great  part  in  being  ashamed 
only  of  bad  actions." 

This  said,  he  went  out,  and  made  an  infer- 
nal noise  with  his  keys. 

I  was  amazed  ! —  "Yet  this  rough  sincerity," 
said  I,  "  pleases  me.  It  flows  from  his  heart, 
like  his  offers,  his  advice,  and  his  compassion  ; 
and  did  he  not  preach  the  truth  to  me  ^  To 
how  many  weaknesses  do  I  not  give  the  name 
of  dignity,  while  they  are  nothing  but  pride  !  " 

At  the  dinner  hour  Schiller  left  it  to  the 
convict  Kunda  to  bring  in  the  little  iron  pots 
and   the  water,  while  he  remained  at  the   door. 

I  called  him. 

"  I  have  not  time,"  he  replied  very  drily. 

I  got  down  from  my  bed,  went  to  him,  and 
said,  "  If  you  wish  my  dinner  to  do  me  good, 
do  not  make  that  ugly  face  at  me." 


MY    PRISONS.  251 

"And  how  would  you  have  me  look?"  he 
asked,  clearing  up. 

"  Like  a  pleasant  man,  like  a  friend,"  I  re- 
plied. 

"  Let  us  be  merry,  then  !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  And  if,  in  order  that  your  dinner  may  do  you 
good,  you  would  like  too  to  see  me  dance, 
come,  you  shall  have  your  wish." 

And  he  began  to  kick  about  his  slender 
shanks  with  so  much  good  will,  that  I  laughed 
heartily.     I  laughed,  but  my  heart  was  touched. 


252  MY    PRISONS 


CHAPTER    LXVIII. 

One  evening  Oroboni  and  I  were  at  our 
windows,  complaining  to  each  other  of  being 
famished.  We  raised  our  voices  somewhat,  and 
the  sentinels  shouted.  The  superintendent,  who 
by  ill  luck  was  passing  that  way,  thought  pro- 
per to  have  Schiller  called,  and  harshly  repri- 
manded him  for  not  watching  better  to  keep  us 
silent. 

Schiller  came  in  great  anger  to  complain  of 
it  to  me,  and  desired  me  never  again  to  speak 
from  the  window.  He  wished  me  to  promise 
him  that  I  would  not. 

"No,"  I  replied,  "I  will  not   promise  you." 

"  Oh  !  der  Teufel !  cler  Teufel !  "  he  exclaim- 
ed, "  can  you  say  to  me,  '  I  will  not  !  '  to  me, 
who  have  received  a  cursed  scolding  on  your 
account  !  " 

"  I  am  sorry,  dear  Schiller,  for  the  repri- 
mand you  have  received,  I  am  truly  sorry  for 
it  ;  but  I  will  not  promise  what  I  feel  I  shall 
not  perform." 

"  And  why  will  you  not  perform  it  ?  " 


MY    PRISONS.  253 

"  Because  I   cannot  ;    because   continual  soli- 
tude is  such  a  cruel  torment  to  me,  that  I  can 
never   resist   the    necessity     of   uttering    a   few 
words,    and    of    asking    my    neighbour   to    reply 
to   me  ;    and   if  he    should   be   silent,  I    should 
speak  to  the  bars  of  my   window,   to  the  hills 
that  rise  before   me,  to  the    birds  as  they  fly." 
"  Dcr  Teufel  !  and  you  will  not  promise  me  ?  " 
"No,  no,  no  !  "  I  exclaimed. 
He   threw   his   noisy   bunch    of  keys   on   the 
ground,    and   repeated,   "  Der  Tetiftl !  der   Teu- 
fel ! "  then  embracing  me  he  burst  out  ; 

"  Well  !  must  I  cease  to  be  a  man  for 
those  vile  keys  ?  You  are  a  gentleman  ev- 
ery way,  and  I  am  pleased  that  you  will  not 
promise  what  you  cannot  perform.  I  would  do 
the  same  too." 

I  took  up  the  keys,  and  gave  them  to  him. 
"  These  keys,"  said  I,  "  are  not,  after  all,  so 
very  vile,  since  they  cannot  turn  an  honest 
corporal  like  you  into  a  hard-hearted  villain." 
"If  I  thought  they  could  do  tliat,"  he  re- 
plied, "  I  would  carry  them  to  my  superiors 
and  say,  '  If  you  will  give  me  no  other  bread, 
than  that  of  a  hangman,  I  will  go  a  begging.'  " 


254  MY    PRISONS. 

He  drew  his  handkerchief  from  his  pocket, 
wiped  his  eyes,  then  raising  them,  clasped  his 
hands  in  the  attitude  of  prayer.  I  clasped  mine, 
and  prayed  like  him  in  silence.  He  under- 
stood that  I  w^as  praying  for  him,  and  I  that 
he  was  praying  for  me. 

As  he  went  away,  he  said  to  me  in  an 
under-tone  ;  "  When  you  talk  with  Count  Oro- 
boni,  speak  as  low  as  possible.  This  will  be 
well  on  two  accounts  ;  you  will  save  me  the 
reprimands  of  the  superintendent,  and  you  will 
prevent  any  one  from  overhearing  some  remarks 
.  . .  shall  I  say  it  .''  .  .  .  some  remarks,  which,  if 
repeated,  would  only  further  irritate  him  who 
can  punish." 

I  assured  him,  that  not  a  word  should  ever 
come  from  our  lips,  which  could  give  offence, 
if  reported  to  any  one  whomsoever. 

In  fact  we  had  no  need  of  warnings  to  make 
us  cautious.  Two  prisoners,  who  succeed  in 
communicating  with  each  other,  can  easily  form 
a  language  for  themselves,  by  which  any  thing 
may  be  said,  without  danger  of  its  being  un- 
derstood by  listeners. 


MY    PRISONS.  255 


CHAPTER    LXIX. 

One  morning  I  was  returning  from  walking  ; 
it  was  the  7th  of  August.  The  door  of  Oro- 
boni's  cell  stood  open  ;  Schiller  was  within, 
and  had  not  heard  me  coming.  My  guards  were 
passing  forward  to  close  the  door.  I  anticipated 
them,  I  sprang  into  the  room,  and  was  in  the 
arms  of  Oroboni. 

Schiller  was  confounded  ;  he  said,  "  Der 
Teiiftl  !  der  Teiifcl  !  "  and  raised  his  finger  to 
menace  me.  But  his  eyes  filled  with  tears, 
and  he  exclaimed,  sobbing,  "  O  my  God,  have 
mercy  on  these  poor  young  men,  and  on  me, 
and  on  all  the  unhappy.  Thou,  who  didst  suflTer 
so  much  upon  earth  !  " 

The  guards  shed  tears  also.  The  sentinel  of 
the  corridor,  who  ran  to  the  spot,  was  equally 
moved.  Oroboni  said  to  me,  "  Silvio,  Silvio, 
this  is  one  of  llic  most  precious  days  of  my 
life  !  "  I  know  not  what  I  said  to  him  ;  I  was 
beside   myself  with  joy   and  tender  emotion. 

When  Schiller  conjured  u.s  to  separate,  and 
we  were  forced  to  obey  him,  Oroboni  burst  into 
a  flood  of  tears,  and  said  ; 


256  MY    PRISONS. 

"  Shall  we  never  again  see  each  other  upon 
earth  ?  " 

I  never  did  see  him  more  !  A  few  months 
after,  his  room  was  empty,  and  Oroboni  lay  in 
that   cemetery,   which  was  before  my  window  ! 

From  the  time  of  this  brief  interview,  it 
seemed  as  if  we  loved  each  other  yet  more 
affectionately,  more  strongly,  than  before  ;  it 
seemed  as  if  we  were  mutually  more  necessary 
to  each   other. 

He  was  a  fine-looking  young  man,  of  noble 
aspect,  but  pale,  and  in  miserable  health.  His 
eyes  only  were  full  of  life.  My  affection  for 
him  was  increased  by  the  pity,  which  his  ema- 
ciation and  paleness  excited  ;  and  so  was  his 
for  me.  We  both  felt  how  probable  it  was 
that  one  would  soon  be  the  survivor  of  the 
other. 

A  few  days  after,  he  became  ill.  I  could 
only  grieve  and  pray  for  him.  After  an  attack 
of  fever,  he  regained  a  little  strength,  and  was 
able  to  return  to  our  friendly  conversations. 
Oh  how  it  consoled  me  to  hear  the  sound  of 
his  voice  again  ! 

"  Do  not  deceive  yourself,"  said  he  to  me, 
"  it  will  be  but  for  a  short  time.     Have  strength 


MY    PRISONS.  257 

to  jn-epare  yourself  to  lose  me  ;  let  your  cour- 
age inspire  courage  in  me." 

At  this  time  the  walls  of  our  cells  were  to 
be  whitewashed,  and  meanwhile  we  were  re- 
moved to  the  subterranean  dungeons.  Unfortu- 
nately, during  this  interval,  we  were  not  placed 
near  each  other.  Schiller  said,  that  Oroboni 
continued  well  ;  but  I  doubted  whether  he 
was  willing  to  tell  me  the  truth,  and  feared 
that  the  health  of  my  friend,  already  so  fee- 
ble, would  become  worse  in  those  subterranean 
vaults. 

Would  that  at  least  I  had  had  the  good  for- 
tune to  be  near  my  dear  Maroncelli  !  I  how- 
ever heard  his  voice.  We  saluted  each  other 
by  singing,  in  spite  of  the  scolding  of  the 
guards. 

At  this  time  the  principal  physician  of  BrLinn 
came  to  visit  us,  in  consequence  perhaps  of 
the  report,  which  the  superintendent  had  sent 
to  Vienna,  of  the  extreme  weakness  to  which 
such  scarcity  of  food  had  reduced  us  all  ;  or 
because  an  epidemic  scurvy  prevailed  in  the 
prison. 

Not   knowing   the   cause    of  this   visit,   1    ima- 
gined  it  was  on   account  of  Oroboni's  increased 
17 


258  MY    PRISONS. 

illness.  The  fear  of  losing  him  gave  me  in- 
describable uneasiness,  A  deep  melancholy, 
and  a  strong  desire  to  die,  then  seized  upon 
me.  The  idea  of  suicide  again  presented  it- 
self to  me.  I  struggled  against  it  ;  but  I  was 
like  a  fainting  traveller,  who,  whilst  he  says, 
"  I  must  go  on  to  the  end,"  feels  an  almost 
overpowering  necessity  of  throwing  himself  on 
the   ground  to  rest. 

I  had  been  told,  that  not  long  since,  in  one 
of  these  dark  cells,  an  old  man,  a  Bohemian, 
had  killed  himself  by  dashing  his  head  against 
the  wall.  I  could  not  drive  from  my  thoughts 
the  temptation  of  following  his  example.  I  do 
not  know  whether  my  delirium  might  not  have 
reached  that  point,  if  a  discharge  of  blood  from 
my  lungs  had  not  made  me  believe  that  my 
death  was  at  hand.  I  thanked  God  for  granting 
me  death  in  this  manner,  and  for  saving  me 
from  an  act  of  desperation,  which  my  judgment 
condemned. 

But  instead  of  this,  it  was  God's  will  that  I 
should  still  live.  This  discharge  of  blood  al- 
leviated my  sufferings.  In  the  mean  time  I 
was  brought  back  to  the  upper  cells  ;  and  the 
greater  light,  and  my  being  once  more  near 
Oroboni,   again  attached   me   to  life. 


MY    PRISONS.  259 


CHAPTER   LXX. 

I  COMMUNICATED  to  him  the  dreadful  melan- 
choly I  had  suffered  while  parted  from  him  ; 
and  he  told  me  that  he  too  had  been  obliged 
to   struggle   against   the   thought  of  suicide. 

"Let  us  take  advantage,"  said  he,  "  of  the 
short  time  that  has  been  granted  us  anew,  to 
console  each  other  by  religion.  Let  us  speak 
of  God  ;  let  us  excite  each  other  to  love  him  ; 
let  us  remember,  that  He  is  justice,  wisdom, 
goodness,  beauty  ;  that  he  is  every  thing  ex- 
cellent which  has  been  the  object  of  our  love. 
I  tell  you  truly  that  my  death  is  not  far  distant. 
I  shall  be  eternally  grateful  to  you,  if  you  will 
contribute  to  make  me  as  religious  in  these 
my  last  days,  as  I  ought  to  have  been  through 
life." 

And  our  conversations  now  turned  only  on 
Christian  philosophy,  and  the  comparison  of 
this  with  the  wretchedness  of  tlic  sensual  phi- 
losophy. We  both  rejoiced  in  perceiving  the 
conformity  between  Ciiristianity  and  reason  ; 
we    .saw    on    comparing    the    different    forms    of 


260  MY    PRISONS. 

belief  which  have  been  founded  on  the  Gospel, 
that  the  Catholic  alone  could  abide  the  test  of 
criticism,  and  that  the  Catholic  doctrine  con- 
sists of  the  purest  precepts  and  the  purest  mo- 
rality, not  in  wretched  additions,  the  offspring 
of  human  ignorance. 

"And  if,  by  some  chance  but  little  to  be 
hoped,  we  should  return  to  society,"  said  Oro- 
boni,  "  shall  we  be  so  pusillanimous  as  not  to 
confess  the  Gospel  ?  Shall  we  remain  firm, 
should  any  one  conceive  that  imprisonment  has 
weakened  our  minds,  and  that,  in  consequence 
of  this  weakness,  we  have  become  more  estab- 
lished in  our  faith." 

"My  dear  Oroboni,"  said  I,  "your  question 
discloses  to  me  your  answer,  and  mine  is  the 
same.  It  is  the  greatest  cowardice  to  be  the 
slave  of  others'  opinions,  Avhen  one  is  persuaded 
that  they  are  false.  I  do  not  believe  that  either 
you   or   I   shall  ever  be  guilty  of  it." 

In  these  confidential  communications  I  com- 
mitted one  fault.  I  had  pledged  myself  to  Ju- 
lian, never,  by  revealing  his  real  name,  to  in- 
form any  one  of  the  connexion  we  had  had 
with  each  other.  I  gave  an  account  of  it  to 
Oroboni,    saying    to    him,    "  If  I    were    in    the 


MY    PRISONS.  261 

world,  such  a  communication  should  never  pass 
my  lips  ;  but  here  we  are  in  a  sepulchre,  and 
even  should  you  be  liberated,  I  know  that  I 
may  trust   in  you." 

My  high-minded  friend  was  silent. 

"  Why  do  you  not  reply  to  me  .'  "  said  I. 

At  length  he  began  seriously  to  blame  me 
for  having  betrayed  this  secret.  His  reproof 
was  just.  No  friendship,  however  intimate  it 
may  be,  however  strengthened  by  virtue,  can 
authorize  such  a  breach  of  faith. 

But,  the  fault  having  been  committed,  Oroboni 
turned  it  to  my  advantage.  He  had  known  Ju- 
lian, and  was  acquainted  with  many  circum- 
stances of  his  life  which  were  honorable  to  him. 
He  related  them  to  me,  and  said,  "That  man 
has  so  often  acted  like  a  Christian,  that  it  is 
scarcely  possible  he  should  carry  his  anti- 
religious  phrensy  to  the  tomb.  Let  us  cherish 
the  hope  that  he  will  not  !  And  do  you,  Sil- 
vio, take  care  heartily  to  forgive  his  bad  tem- 
per, and  to  pray  for  him  !  " 

His  words  were  sacred  to  me. 


262  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER   LXXI. 

The  conversations  of  which  I  speak,  with 
Oroboni,  Schiller,  and  others,  occupied  alto- 
gether but  a  small  part  of  the  twenty-four  hours 
of  my  long  day  ;  and  circumstances  were  not 
unfrequently  such,  as  to  render  any  conversa- 
tion with  Oroboni  impossible. 

How    did   my    time    pass    in    such    solitude  ? 

The  whole  amount  of  my  life  during  those 
days  was  as  follows.  I  always  rose  at  dawn, 
and  standing  on  the  head  of  my  bed,  grasping 
the  bars  of  my  window,  I  prayed.  Oroboni  was 
either  already  at  his  window,  or  soon  came. 
We  greeted  each  other,  and  silently  continu- 
ed our  devotions.  The  wretchedness  of  our 
cells  made  the  view  without  appear  to  us  more 
beautiful.  The  sky,  the  country,  the  distant 
motion  of  the  animals  in  the  valley,  the 
voices  of  the  peasant  girls,  their  laughter  and 
their  songs,  exhilarated  us,  and  made  us  feel 
more  intimately  the  presence  of  Him,  who  is  so 
munificent  in  his  goodness,  and  of  whom  we 
so  much  stood  in  need. 


MY    PRISONS.  263 

Then  came  the  morning  visit  of  the  guards. 
They  gave  a  glance  round  the  room,  to  see  that 
every  thing  was  right,  and  examined  my  chain, 
link  by  link,  to  assure  themselves  that  it  had  not 
been  broken  by  accident  or  design  ;  or,  rather, 
since  it  was  impossible  to  break  it,  in  order  to 
conform  to  the  prescribed  rules  of  the  prison. 
If  it  was  one  of  the  days  on  which  the  physician 
made  his  visits,  Schiller  asked  if  I  wished  to 
speak  with  him,  and  took  note  accordingly. 

The  tour  of  our  cells  being  finished,  Schiller 
returned,  accompanied  by  Kunda,  whose  busi- 
ness it  was  to  clean  the   rooms. 

After  a  short  interval,  breakfast  was  brought 
us.  Tliis  was  a  small  pot  half  full  of  reddish 
broth,  with  three  very  thin  slices  of  bread  ;  I 
ate  the  bread,  but  did  not  drink  the  broth. 

After  this,  I  prepared  to  study.  Maroncelli 
had  brougiit  many  books  from  Italy,  and  our 
companions  had  each  brought  a  number,  some 
more,  .some  less.  Altogether,  they  formed  a 
good  little  library.  We  hoped,  besides,  to  be 
able  to  increase  it  from  our  own  funds.  No  an- 
swer to  our  request  to  l)e  allowed  to  icad  our 
own  books,  and  to  purchase  other.s,  had  yet 
come  from  the  Emperor  ;  but,  in  the  mean  time, 


264  ^  MY    PRISONS. 

the  governor  of  Briinn  allowed  each  of  us  pro- 
visionally to  keep  two  books  with  him,  and  to 
change  them  whenever  we  pleased.  Towards 
nine  o'clock  the  superintendent  came,  and  the 
physician,  if  requested,  accompanied  him. 

I  had  then  another  interval  for  study  till 
eleven  o'clock,  which  was  the  hour  for  dinner. 

Until  sunset  I  had  no  more  visits,  and  re- 
turned to  study.  Then  Schiller  and  Kunda  came 
to  change  the  water,  and,  a  short  time  after- 
ward, the  superintendent,  with  some  guards, 
for  the  evening  inspection  of  every  part  of  my 
room  and  of  my  irons. 

We  walked  for  an  hour  in  the  course  of 
the  day,  either  before  or  after  dinner,  at  the 
pleasure  of  the  guards. 

The  abovementioned  evening-  visit  beine;  over, 
Oroboni  and  I  began  to  converse,  and  this  was 
usually  our  longest  conversation.  Others  took 
place  irregularly  in  the  morning,  or  just  after 
dinner  ;  but,  for  the  most  part,  they  were  very 
brief 

Sometimes  the  sentinels  were  so  compassion- 
ate that  they  would  say  to  us,  "  A  little  lower, 
Signori,  or  we  shall  be  punished." 

At  other  times,  they  pretended  not  to  notice 


MY    PRISONS.  265 

that  we  were  talking  ;  then,  seeing  the  ser- 
geant appear,  they  begged  us  to  be  silent  till 
he  had  gone,  and,  as  soon  as  he  went,  they 
said,  ^'Signori  patroni,  now  you  may  go  on, 
but  as  low  as  possible." 

Occasionally,  some  of  those  soldiers  made 
bold  even  to  talk  with  us,  to  answer  our  ques- 
tions, and  give  us  some  intbrmation  about  Italy. 
To  certain  remarks  we  did  not  reply,  except 
by  begging  them  to  be  silent.  It  was  natural 
that  we  should  doubt,  whether  what  they  said 
were  entirely  the  overflowing  of  simple  hearts, 
or  whether  there  were  not  some  artifice  in  it 
for  the  purpose  of  discovering  our  thoughts.  I 
am,  however,  much  disposed  to  believe,  that 
they  spoke  with  sincerity. 


266  MY    PRISONS 


CHAPTER    LXXII. 

One  evening  we  had  very  kind  sentinels,  so 
that  Oroboni  and  I  gave  ourselves  no  trouble 
to  suppress  our  voices.  Maroncelli,  in  his  sub- 
terranean cell,  having  climbed  up  to  the  win- 
dow, heard  us,  and  distinguished  my  voice. 
He  could  not  restrain  himself  ;  he  saluted  me 
by  singing.  He  asked  me  how  I  was,  and 
expressed  to  me,  in  the  tenderest  words,  his  re- 
gret at  not  having  yet  obtained  permission  that 
we  should  be  together.  This  favor  I  too  had 
requested  ;  but  neither  the  superintendent  of 
Spielberg,  nor  the  governor  of  Briinn,  had  the 
power  of  granting  it.  Our  mutual  desire  had 
been  signified  to  the  Emperor  ;  but  no  answer 
had  yet   come. 

Besides  the  time  that  we  saluted  each  other 
by  singing  in  our  subterranean  dungeons,  I 
had  repeatedly,  in  my  cell  above,  heard  him 
singing,  but  without  understanding  the  words, 
and  only  for  a  few  moments,  because  he  was 
not  permitted  to  go  on. 


MY    PRISONS.  267 

Now  he  raised  his  voice  much  higher  ;  he 
was  not  immediately  interrupted,  and  I  under- 
stood the  whole.  There  are  no  terms  to  ex- 
press the  emotion  which  I  felt. 

I  replied  to  him,  and  we  continued  the  dia- 
logue about  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  At  last  the 
sentinels  were  changed  upon  the  terrace,  and 
the  new  comers  were  not  so  complaisant.  We 
were  disposed  to  resume  our  singing  ;  but  they 
uttered  furious  exclamations  and  curses,  and 
we  were  obliged  to  attend  to  them. 

I  pictured  to  myself  Maroncelli,  lying  for  so 
long  a  time  in  that  cell,  far  worse  than  mine  ; 
I  imagined  the  sadness  which  must  often  op- 
press him,  and  the  injury  which  his  health  must 
suffer  from  it,  and  I  was  overwhelmed  with 
anguish. 

At  length  I  was  able  to  weep  ;  but  tears 
were  no  relief  to  me.  A  severe  headache, 
with  violent  fever,  seized  me.  I  could  not  sup- 
port myself  on  my  feet,  but  threw  myself  upon 
the  straw  bed.  My  agitation  increased,  pro- 
ducing pain  in  my  breast,  with  dreadful  spasms. 
I  believed  that  I  should  die  that  night. 

The  following  day  the  fever  ceased,  and  I 
felt  less  pain   in  uiy    breast  ;    but    it    seemed   to 


268  MY    PRISONS. 

me  that  my  brain  was  on  fire,  and  I  could 
scarcely  move  my  head  without  great  suffering. 
I  told  Oroboni  of  my  situation.  He,  too^ 
felt  himself  more  ill  than  usual. 

"  Friend,"  said  he,  "  the  day  is  not  distant 
when  one  of  us  two  will  no  longer  be  able  to 
come  to  the  window.  Whenever  we  salute  each 
other,  it  may  be  for  the  last  time.  Let  each, 
then,  prepare  himself,  either  to  die,  or  to  sur- 
vive  his  friend." 

His  voice  was  tremulous  ;  I  could  not  reply 
to  him  ;  both  were  silent  for  an  instant,  and 
he  then  went  on  : 

"  How  happy  you  are  in  understanding  Ger- 
man !  You  can  at  least  confess  yourself.  I 
have  asked  for  a  priest  who  understands  Ital- 
ian ;  they  tell  me  there  is  none.  But  God  sees 
my  desire  ;  and  since  I  confessed  at  Venice, 
it  really  does  not  appear  to  me,  that  I  have 
bui'dened  my  conscience  with  any  new  sin." 

"I  also  confessed  at  Venice,"  said  I,  "but 
with  my  soul  full  of  rancor  ;  and  I  did  worse 
than  if  I  had  refused  the  sacraments.  But  now, 
if  I  were  allowed  to  see  a  priest,  I  assure  you 
that  I  should  confess  from  my  heart,  forgiving 
every  one." 


MY    PRISONS.  269 

"Heaven  bless  you  !  "  he  exclaimed  ;  "you 
give  me  great  consolation.  Let  us  do,  let  us 
both  do,  all  in  our  power  to  be  eternally  united 
in  happiness,  as  we  have  been  in  these  days 
of  misfortune." 

The  next  day  I  expected  him  at  the  window, 
but  he  did  not  come.  I  learned  fi'om  Schiller 
that  he  was  seriously  ill. 

Eight  or  ten  days  afterward  he  was  better, 
and  came  again  to  salute  me.  I  was  suffer- 
ing, but  able  to  support  myself  Thus  several 
months  passed,  during  which  each  was  alter- 
nately better  and  worse. 


270  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    LXXIII. 

I  WAS  able  to  keep  up  until  the  eleventh  of 
January,  1823.  The  morning  of  that  day  I 
rose  with  a  headache,  not  severe,  but  accom- 
panied by  a  tendency  to  faintness.  My  legs 
trembled,  and  my  breathing  was  laborious. 

Oroboni,  likewise,  had  been  ill  for  two  or 
three  days,  and  had  not  risen  from  his  bed. 

Some  soup  was  brought  me  ;  I  had  scarcely 
tasted  a  spoonful,  when  I  fell  senseless.  Some 
time  after,  the  sentinel  in  the  corridor  looked 
accidentally  through  the  opening  in  my  door, 
and  seeing  me  lying  on  the  floor,  with  the  iron 
pot  overturned  near  me,  thought  I  was  dead, 
and  called  Schiller. 

The  superintendent  came  also  ;  the  physician 
was  immediately  sent  for,  and  I  was  put  in 
bed.     I  was  with  difficulty  recovered. 

The  physician  said  that  I  was  in  danger, 
and  had  my  irons  taken  off.  He  ordered  me 
some  cordial,  I  know  not  what,  but  my  stom- 
ach could  retain  nothing.  The  pain  in  my  head 
increased  terribly. 


MY    PRISONS.  271 

A  report  was  immediately  made  to  the  gov- 
ernor, who  sent  a  courier  to  Vienna,  to  know 
how  I  should  be  treated.  The  reply  Avas,  that 
I  should  not  be  put  into  the  infirmary  ;  but 
that  I  should  be  attended  in  prison  with  the 
same  care  as  if  I  were  in  the  infirmary.  The 
superintendent  was,  moreover,  authorized  to 
supply  me  with  broth  and  soup  from  his  own 
kitchen,  while  my  illness  continued  severe. 

This  last  provision  was  at  first  useless  to 
jne.  I  could  take  neither  food  nor  drink.  I 
grew  worse  for  a  whole  week,  and  was  delirious 
day  and  night. 

Krai  and  Kubitzki  were  appointed  to  nurse 
me,  and  they  both  performed  the  office  with 
kindness. 

Whenever  I  recovered  my  senses  a  little, 
Krai  would  repeat  to  me, 

"Have   faith   in  God  ;  God  only  is  good." 

"Pray  for  me,"  said  I  to  him  ;  "not  that 
God  may  restore  me  to  health,  but  that  he 
may  accept  my  misfortunes  and  my  death,  as 
an  expiation  for  my  sins." 

He  suggested  to  mc  to  ask  for  the  sacra- 
ments. 


272  MY    PRISONS. 

"  If  I  have  not  asked  for  them,"  I  repHed, 
"  attribute  it  to  the  weakness  of  my  head  5  it 
would  be  a  great  comfort  to  me  to  receive 
them." 

Krai  related  my  woi*ds  to  the  superintendent, 
and  the  chaplain  of  the  prison  was  sent. 

I  confessed,  partook  of  the  communion,  and 
received  extreme  unction.  I  was  pleased  with 
the  priest.  His  name  was  Sturm.  The  re- 
flections which  he  made  upon  the  justice  of 
God,  upon  the  injustice  of  men,  upon  the  duty 
of  forgiveness,  upon  the  vanity  of  the  things  of 
the  world,  were  not  mere  commonplaces  ;  they 
bore  the  impress  of  a  high  and  cultivated  mind, 
and  of  a  warm  feeling  of  true  love  to  God  and 
man. 


MY    PRISONS.  273 


CHAPTER    LXXIV. 

It  seemed  at  first,  as  if  the  efibrt  of  atten- 
tion, which  I  made  to  receive  the  sacraments, 
had  exhausted  the  remains  of  life  ;  but,  on  the 
contrary,  it  benefited  me,  by  throwing  me  into 
a  deep  sleep  which  lasted  for  several  houx's. 

I  awoke  somewhat  relieved  ;  and  seeing  Schil- 
ler and  Krai  near  me,  I  took  their  hands  and 
thanked  them  for  their  care  of  me. 

Schiller  said  to  me,  "  My  eyes  are  used  to 
seeing  the  sick  ;  I  would  lay  a  wager  that 
you   will  not    die." 

"  Does  not  that  seem  to  you  a  bad  prognos- 
tic ?  "  said   I. 

"No,"  he  replied;  "the  miseries  of  life  are 
great,  it  is  true  ;  but  he  who  supports  them 
with  nobleness  of  soul  and  with  humility,  is 
always  a  gainer  by  living." 

Then  he  added,  "  If  you  live,  I  hope  that 
in  a  few  days  you  will  have  a  great  consola- 
tion. Have  you  asked  to  sec  Signor  Maron- 
celli  .'  " 

18 


274  31  Y    PRISONS. 

"  I  have  asked  it  so  many  times  in  vain, 
that   I   no  longer  dare  to  hope  for  it." 

"  Hope,  hope,  Sir,  and  repeat  the  request." 

I  repeated  it  that  very  day.  The  superin- 
tendent, likewise,  bade  me  hope  ;  and  added 
that  it  was  very  probable  that  Maroncelli  might 
not  only  see  me,  but  that  he  would  be  ap- 
pointed to  be  my  attendant  while  I  was  ill,  and 
afterwards    my  constant  companion. 

As  the  health  of  all  the  prisoners  of  state 
was  more  or  less  injured,  the  governor  had 
requested  at  Vienna,  that  we  might  all  be  put 
two  and  two  together,  in  order  to  assist  each 
other. 

I  had  also  asked  the  privilege  of  writing  a 
last   adieu   to  my  family. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  second  week,  there 
was  a  crisis  in  my  illness,  and  the  danger  was 
over. 

I  had  begun  to  sit  tip,  when,  one  morning, 
my  door  opened,  and  I  saw  the  superinten- 
dent, Schiller,  and  the  physician  enter,  full  of 
animation.  The  first  ran  toward  me  and  said, 
"  We  have  permission  to  give  you  Maroncelli 
for  your  companion,  and  to  allow  you  to  write 
to  your  relations." 


MY    PRISONS.  275 

Joy  deprived  me  of  breath,  and  the  poor 
superintendent,  who  from  the  impulse  of  a  good 
heart  had  been  deficient  in  prudence,  thought 
I  was  dead. 

When  I  recovered  my  senses,  and  recollect- 
ed the  news  I  had  heard,  I  begged  that  so 
great  a  blessing  might  not  be  delayed.  The 
physician  consented,  and  Maroncelli  was  con- 
ducted to  my  arms. 

Oh  !  what  a  moment  was  that  !  "  Are  you  yet 
alive  .' "  we  both  exclaimed.  "Oh  friend  !  Oh 
brother  !  what  a  happy  day  have  we  been  per- 
mitted to  see.     God  be  blessed  for  it  !  " 

But  great  as  was  our  joy,  it  was  mingled 
with  much  mutual  commiseration.  Maroncelli 
must  have  been  less  struck  by  my  appearance 
than  I  was  by  his  ;  for,  though  he  found  me  in 
so  wretched  a  state,  he  knew  what  a  severe  ill- 
ness I  had  passed  through.  But  I,  though  my 
thoughts  had  dwelt  upon  his  afflictions,  had  not 
imagined  him  so  changed  from  what  he  was 
before.  He  was  scarcely  to  be  recognised. 
That  countenance,  once  so  fine,  so  blooming, 
how  was  it  wasted  by  suffering,  by  hunger, 
and  by  the    noxious    air   of   his   dark  dungeon  ! 


278  MY    PRISONS. 

study,  and  that  of  using  our  money  to  pur- 
chase   books.     Neither  was  ever  granted. 

The  governor  continued,  meanwhile,  to  per- 
mit us  to  read  our  own  books. 

Through  his  kindness  likewise,  there  was  some 
change  for  the  better  in  our  food  ;  but,  alas  !  it 
was  only  for  a  short  time.  He  had  consented 
that  we  should  be  furnished  from  the  kitchen 
of  the  superintendent,  instead  of  that  of  the 
victualler  of  the  prison.  Some  additional  funds 
had  been  assigned  by  him  for  this  use.  The 
arrangement  was  not  sanctioned  ;  but,  while  it 
lasted,  I  experienced  some  benefit  from  it.  Ma- 
roncelli  also  regained  a  little  strength.  But 
for    poor  Oroboni   it  was  too  late. 

He  had  received  as  a  companion,  first  the 
advocate  Solera,  and  then  the  priest  Don  For- 
tini. 

After  two  of  us  had  been  put  together  in 
each  cell,  the  prohibition  to  speak  at  the 
windows  was  renewed,  with  the  threat,  that 
whoever  should  infringe  it,  should  be  again 
placed  in  solitude.  To  tell  the  truth,  we  some- 
times violated  the  prohibition  to  salute  each 
other  ;    but  we  had  no  more  long  conversations. 

The    disposition    of  Maroncelli    and    my    own 


M  V    P  R  I  S  O  JN  S  .  279 

perfectly  harmonized.  The  courage  of  one  sus- 
tained the  courage  of  the  other.  If  either  of 
us  was  seized  by  melancholy,  or  irritated  by 
anger,  at  the  hardships  of  our  situation,  the 
other  cheered  him  by  some  joke,  or  by  some 
well-adapted  reasoning.  Thus  a  sweet  smile 
almost  always  tempered   our  sufferings. 

As  long  as  we  had  books,  although  we  had 
read  them  so  often  that  we  knew  them  by  heart, 
they  were  agreeable  food  for  the  mind,  as 
they  always  gave  occasion  to  new  examina- 
tions, comparisons,  judgments,  corrections,  &c. 
We  read  or  meditated  a  great  part  of  the  day 
in  silence,  and  conversed  during  dinner,  while 
walking,  and  all  the  evening. 

Maroncclli,  in  his  subterranean  cell,  had 
composed  many  verses  of  great  beauty.  He 
recited  them  to  me,  and  composed  others.  I 
also  composed  verses,  and  recited  them  to  him, 
and  our  memory  was  thus  in  constant  ex- 
ercise. We  acquired  a  wonderful  capacity 
of  forming  in  our  minds  long  poetical  com- 
positions ;  correcting  and  re-conecting  them 
continually,  and  bringing  tiiein  to  as  great  a 
degree  of  finish,  as  wo  should  have  been  able 
to    attain,    had    we  committed    them    to    writing. 


280  MY    PRISONS. 

Maroncelli  thus  composed  by  degrees,  retaining 
them  in  his  memory,  several  thousand  lyric 
and  epic  verses.  I  composed  the  tragedy  of 
Leoniero    da   Dertona   and   various   other  things. 


MY    PRISONS.  281 


CHAPTER    LXXVI. 

Oroboni,  after  having  suffered  a  great  deal 
in  the  winter  and  Sjiring,  found  himself  much 
worse  in  the  summer.  He  raised  blood,  and 
became  dropsical. 

I  leave  our  affliction  to  be  imagined,  when 
he  was  dying  so  near  us,  without  our  being 
able  to  break  down  the  cruel  wall  which  pre- 
vented us  from  seeing  him,  and  from  performing 
for  him  the  offices  of  friendship. 

Schiller  brought  us  news  of  him.  The  un- 
happy young  man  suffered  extremely  ;  but  his 
fortitude  never  gave  way.  He  had  the  spirit- 
ual aid  of  the  chaplain,  (who  fortunately  un- 
derstood French.) 

He  died  on  his  Saint's  day,  the  13th  of 
June,  1823.  Some  hours  before  he  expired, 
he  spoke  of  his  father,  who  was  eigiity  years 
old  ;  he  was  affected  and  wept.  Then  he  re- 
covered himself,  and  said,  "  ]?ut  why  do  I  weep 
for  the  most  fortunate  of  those  I  love,  since  he 
is  on  the  eve  of  joining  me  in  eternal  peace  .'*  " 
His  last  words  were,  "  1  forgive  from  my 
heart  all  my  enemies." 


282  MY    PRISONS. 

His  eyes  were  closed  by  Don  Fortini,  his 
friend  from  infancy,  a  most  religious  and  ami- 
able man. 

Poor  Oroboni  !  what  a  chill  ran  through  our 
veins,  when  we  were  told  he  was  no  more  ! 
We  heard  the  voices  and  the  steps  of  those 
who  came  to  take  away  the  corpse  ;  and  we 
saw  from  the  window  the  cai't  in  which  it  was 
carried  to  the  cemetery  !  Two  common  con- 
victs drew  the  cart  ;  four  guards  followed 
it.  We  accompanied  with  our  eyes  the  sad 
procession  to  the  cemetery.  It  entered  the 
enclosure.  It  stopped  in  a  corner  :  there  was 
the   grave. 

A  few  moments  afterwards,  the  cart,  the  con- 
victs, and  the  guards  returned.  Among  them 
was  Kubitzki.  He  said  to  me,  (a  refined 
thought,  extraordinary  in  an  uncultivated  man,) 
"  I  have  carefully  marked  the  place  of  his  bu- 
rial, so  that,  if  any  relation  or  friend  should 
ever  obtain  permission  to  take  his  bones,  and 
carry  them  to  his  country,  it  may  be  known 
where  they  lie." 

How  many  times  Oroboni  had  said  to  me, 
as  he  looked  at  the  cemetery  from  his  window, 
"  I  must  accustom  myself  to  the  idea  of  moul- 


MY    PRISONS.  283 

dering  in  that  place  ;  yet  I  confess  it  makes 
me  shudder.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  shall  not 
rest  so  well  in  this  country,  as  in  our  own 
dear  peninsula." 

Then  he  would  smile,  and  exclaim,  "  How 
childish  !  When  a  dress  is  worn  out,  and  must 
be  discarded,  of  what  consequence  is  it  where 
it  may  be  thrown  ?  " 

Another  time  he  said  ;  "  I  am  constantly  pre- 
paring for  death  ;  but  I  should  resign  myself 
to  it  more  willingly  on  one  condition  ;  just  to 
enter  beneath  my  paternal  roof,  embrace  the 
knees  of  my  father,  receive  one  blessing  from 
him,  and  die  !  " 

He  sighed  and  added,  "  If  this  cup  may  not 
pass  from  me,  O  my  God,  may  thy  will  be 
done  !  " 

And  the  last  morning  of  his  life,  he  again 
said,  as  he  kissed  a  crucifix  which  Krai  held 
toward  him  ; 

"  Thou  who  wert  divine,  yet  hadst  a  horror 
of  death,  and  saidst,  Si  possibile  est,  transcut  a 
mc  calix  isle,*  forgive,  if  I  say  it  also.  I?ut  I 
also  repeat  thy  other  words,  Vcrumlamen  non 
sicut  ego  volo,  scd  sicul  /w  .' "  "f 

"  If  it  be   possible,  let  this  cup  pass  from  me. 
■f  Nevertheless,  not  as  I  will;  but  as  thou  will. 


284  MY    PRISONS, 


CHAPTER    LXXVII. 

After  Oroboni's  death  I  was  again  taken  ill. 
I  believed  that  I  should  soon  rejoin  my  depart- 
ed friend  ;  and  this  I  desired.  Only,  could  I 
have    parted    from    Maroncelli  without  pain  ? 

Many  a  time  as  he  was  seated  on  his  straw 
bed,  reading,  or  composing  poetry,  or,  perhaps, 
like  myself,  pretending  to  be  thus  occupied, 
while  he  was  meditating  on  our  misfortunes,  I 
have  watched  him  with  solicitude,  and  thought, 
"  How  much  more  sad  will  your  life  become 
when  the  stroke  of  death  shall  have  fallen  upon 
me,  when  you  shall  see  me  borne  away  from 
this  room,  and  when,  looking  towards  the  cem- 
etery, you  will  say,  '  Silvio  too  is  there  !  '  "  And 
I  was  moved  with  compassion  at  the  thought 
of  his  surviving  me,  and  prayed  that  another 
companion  might  be  given  him,  capable  of  ap- 
preciating him  as  I  did,  or  that  the  Lord  would 
prolong  my  sufferings,  and  allow  me  the  grate- 
ful office  of  tempering  those  of  my  unhappy 
friend  by  sharing  them  with  him. 

I    will    not    note   my    alternations    of   disease 
and   recovery.     Maroncelli  nursed   me   with    all 


MY    PRISONS.  283 

a  brother's  tenderness.  He  perceived  when  it 
was  not  well  for  me  to  converse,  and  then  he 
was  silent  ;  he  perceived  when  his  conversa- 
tion would  relieve  me,  and  then  he  always 
found  some  subject  suited  to  my  state  of  mind, 
sometimes  followinfj  the  train  of  my  thouorhts, 
and  sometimes  seeking  gradually  to  change  it. 
One  of  nobler  spirit  than  his,  I  have  never 
known,  and  but  few  that  equal  him.  A  great 
love  of  justice,  great  tolerance,  great  faith  in 
human  virtue  and  in  the  aids  of  Providence,  a 
most  lively  perception  of  the  beautiful  in  all  the 
arts,  an  imagination  rich  in  poetry,  all  the  most 
pleasing  qualities  of  mind  and  heart,  combined 
to  render  him  dear  to  me. 

I  did  not  forget  Oroboni,  and  every  day  I 
mourned  his  death  ;  but  my  heart  often  took 
pleasure  in  the  thought,  that  this  dear  friend, 
freed  from  all  evil,  and  in  the  bosom  of  the 
Divinity,  might  number  among  his  joys  that  of 
seeing  mo  with  another  friend,  no  less  affec- 
tionate than  himself. 

A  voice  from  within  seemed  to  assure  me 
that  Oroboni  was  no  longer  in  a  |>lacc  of  ex- 
piation ;  yet  I  contitiuod  to  pray  for  him.  Often 
I   dreamt  that  I  saw  liiin  ;  that   he  was  praying 


236  MY    PRISONS. 

for  me  ;  and  I  loved  to  persuade  myself,  that 
my  dreams  were  not  accidental,  but  were  real 
manifestations  of  him,  permitted  by  God  for  my 
consolation.  It  would  seem  ridiculous,  were  I 
to  describe  the  vividness  of  those  dreams,  and 
the  serenity  of  mind  that  followed  them,  contin- 
uing for  whole  days  together. 

But  my  affliction  was  gradually  alleviated 
by  religious  feeling  and  by  my  friendship  for 
Maroncelli.  The  only  idea  which  alarmed  me 
was  the  possibility  that  my  unfortunate  friend, 
whose  health  was  ruined,  though  his  danger 
seemed  less  imminent  than  my  own,  might 
precede  me  to  the  tomb.  Whenever  he  was 
ill,  I  trembled  ;  when  I  saw  that  he  was  bet- 
ter, it  was  a  day  of  joy  to  me. 

This  apprehension  of  losing  him  added  strength 
to  my  affection,  and  the  fear  of  losing  me  pro- 
duced the  same  effect  on  him. 

Ah,  there  is  a  charm  even  in  these  alterna- 
tions of  anxiety  and  hope  for  the  last  friend 
that  remains  to  us  !  Our  lot  was  certainly 
one  of  the  most  miserable  upon  earth  ;  yet  to 
esteem  and  love  each  other  so  entirely,  formed 
amid  all  our  sufferings  a  kind  of  happiness  ; 
and  we  truly  felt  it. 


MY    PRISONS.  287 


CHAPTER    LXXVIII. 

It  was  my  wish  that  we  should  be  allow- 
ed to  have  as  our  confessor  the  chaplain,  with 
whom  I  was  so  much  pleased  at  the  time  of  my 
first  illness,  and  that  we  should  have  liberty 
to  see  him  now  and  then,  even  when  we  were 
not  seriously  ill.  Instead  of  giving  this  charge 
to  him,  the  governor  appointed  for  us  an  Au- 
gustine monk,  named  Father  Battista,  the  ap- 
pointment being  provisional  till  it  should  be 
confirmed,  or  another  person  nominated,  at  Vi- 
enna. 

I  feared  we  might  lose  by  the  exchange  ; 
but  I  was  mistaken.  Father  Battista  was  an 
angel  of  charity  ;  his  manners  were  cultivated 
and  even  elegant  ;  he  reasoned  profoundly  on 
the  duties  of  man. 

We  entreated  him  to  visit  us  frequently. 
He  came  every  month,  and  oftcncr  if  he  was 
able.  With  the  governor's  permission  he  also 
brought  us  some  books,  and  assured  us,  in  the 
name  of  his  abl)ot,  tliat  the  wlioh'  library  of 
the    convent   was  at    our   service.      This    would 


288  MY    PRISONS. 

have  been  a  great  acquisition  to  us,  had  the 
permission  continued.  As  it  was,  we  availed 
ourselves  of  it  for  several  months. 

After  confession,  he  would  remain  some  time 
to  converse  with  us  ;  and  all  his  remarks  gave 
evidence  of  an  upright  and  noble  mind,  full  of 
enthusiasm  for  the  greatness  and  holiness  of 
man.  For  about  a  year,  we  had  the  good 
fortune  to  enjoy  the  benefit  of  his  intelligence 
and  affection,  and  he  never  disappointed  us. 
He  never  uttered  a  syllable,  which  could  lead 
us  to  suspect  him  of  forgetting  the  duties  of  his 
ministry,  and  having  some  political  purpose.  He 
invariably  treated  us  with  the  utmost  delicacy 
and  consideration. 

At  first,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  distrusted  him, 
and  expected  to  find  him  employing  the  acute- 
ness  of  his  mind  in  unbecoming  investigations. 
Such  distrust  is  but  too  natural  in  a  prisoner 
of  state  ;  but  how  greatly  is  he  relieved  when 
this  feeling  passes  away,  when  he  discovers  in 
the  interpreter  of  God's  will  a  single-hearted 
devotion    to   the    cause  of  God  and  of  mankind. 

He  had  a  peculiar  and  most  efficacious  man- 
ner of  giving  consolation.  I  accused  myself, 
for   example,    of  angry   feelings   on   account   of 


MY    PRISONS.  289 

the  severity  of  our  prison  discipline.     He  mor- 
alized  awhile   on   the    virtue   of   suffering    with 
a  calm   and  forgiving  spirit  ;   and  then  proceed- 
ed to  depict,   in  the  liveliest  manner,  the  mise- 
ries   endured    in  situations    different    from  mine. 
He    had    lived    both    in    the    city    and    in    the 
country,    had    known    the    high    and    the    low, 
had   meditated    on     human    injustice,    and    was 
well   qualified  to  describe  the  feelings  and  hab- 
its of  the  various  classes  of  society.     He  show- 
ed   me    everywhere    the    strong  and   the    weak, 
the  oppressors  and  the   oppressed  ;  and  the  ne- 
cessity  that    everywhere    exists   of   either    hat- 
ing   our    fellow  men,   or  of  loving  them  from  a 
principle   of  generous    indulgence    and   compas- 
sion.    The  cases  that  he  brought  forward  to  re- 
mind me  of  the  universality  of  misfortune,  and 
the  good   effects  that   may   be    derived  from  it, 
had  nothing   singular  in  them  ;  on  the  contrary, 
they  were    very  common  ;    but  he  related  them 
in  words  so  just  and  powerful,  as  to  make  me 
deeply   feel   the    inferences    to    be    drawn    from 
them. 

Never  did   I  hear  those  affectionate  reproofs, 
and  those  noble   counsels,  without  glowing   with 
the  love  of  virtue.     I  no  longer  iiatcd  any  one  ; 
19 


290  MY    PRISONS. 

I  could  have  given  my  life  for  the  least  of  my 
fellow  creatures  ;  I  blessed  God  for  having 
made  me  a  man. 

Ah  !  how  unhappy  is  he  who  knows  not  the 
elevating  influences  of  confession  !  how  unhap- 
py is  he  who  thinks  himself  bound  to  regard 
it  with  scorn,  that  he  may  not  appear  one  of  the 
vulgar  !  Every  one  knows,  that  it  is  necessary 
to  be  good  ;  but  it  is  not  therefore  true,  that 
it  is  useless  to  hear  this  said,  or  that  our  own 
reflections  and  appropriate  reading  are  suffi- 
cient. No  !  the  living  voice  has  a  power  which 
reading  and  reflection  have  not.  The  mind  is 
more  strongly  moved  by  it  ;  the  impressions 
we  receive  are  more  profound.  In  the  words 
of  the  brother  who  speaks  to  us,  there  is  a 
living  energy  and  an  appropriateness  that  we 
often  vainly  seek  in  books  and  in  our  own 
thoughts. 


MY    PRISONS.  291 


CHAPTER    LXXIX. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  year  1824,  the  su- 
perintendent, who  had  his  office  at  one  end  of 
our  corridor,  removed  elsewhere,  and  the  rooms 
of  the  office,  with  others  adjoining,  were  turned 
into  cells.  Alas  !  we  perceived  that  new  pi*is- 
oners  of  state  were  expected  from  Italy. 

In  fact,  those  who  had  been  condemned  un- 
der a  third  process  soon  arrived  ;  all  of  them 
my  friends  and  acquaintances  !  What  was  my 
sorrow  when  I  learnt  their  names  !  Borsieri  was 
one  of  my  oldest  friends.  To  Confalonieri  I 
had  not  been  so  long  attached,  but  still  with 
all  my  heart.  If  I  had  been  able,  by  submitting 
to  the  severest  imprisonment,  or  by  any  sup- 
posable  suffering,  to  have  delivered  them  from 
punishment  and  set  them  free,  God  knows  that 
I  would  have  done  it  !  I  do  not  say  merely, 
that  I  would  have  given  my  life  for  them  : 
what  is  it  to  give  one's  life  t  to  suffer  is  much 


more 


I 


I  might  at  this  time  have  derived  great  ben- 
efit from  the  consolations  of  Father  Battista  ; 
but  he  was   no  longer  permitted  to  come. 


292  MY    PRISONS. 

New  orders  arrived  for  the  maintenance  of 
the  severest  discipline.  The  terrace  which 
served  us  for  a  walk  was  first  enclosed  by  a 
palisade,  so  that  no  one  might  any  longer  see 
us,  even  from  a  distance  with  a  telescope  ; 
and  thus  we  lost  the  beautiful  prospect  of  the 
surrounding  hills  and  the  city  beneath.  But 
this  was  not  enough.  In  going  to  the  terrace, 
it  was  necessary,  as  I  have  said,  to  cross  the 
court,  and  there  many  persons  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  observing  us.  That  we  might  be 
hidden  from  all  eyes,  we  were  deprived  of  that 
walk,  and  another  was  assigned  us  ;  a  very 
small  one,  contiguous  to  our  corridor,  and,  like 
our  rooms,  looking  towards  the  north. 

I  cannot  express  how  much  we  were  afflicted 
by  this  change  of  our  walk.  I  have  not  men- 
tioned all  that  was  agreeable  in  the  place  just 
taken  from  us.  The  sight  of  the  superintend- 
ent's children,  their  affectionate  embraces  on 
the  spot  where  we  had  seen  their  poor  mother 
during  her  last  illness  ;  a  little  talk  with  the 
smith,  who  had  his  quarters  there  ;  the  cheer- 
ful songs  of  one  of  the  corporals,  accompanied 
by  his  guitar  ;  and  in  the  last  place  an  innocent 
attachment,  —  not  on  my  part,  nor  on  the  part 


MY    PRISONS.  293 

of  my  companion,  but  on  that  of  a  good,  simple 
girl,  the  daughter  of  an  Hungarian  corporal,  — 
a  fruitseller.      She  was  in  love  with  Maroncelli. 

Before  he  was  placed  with  me  they  had  form- 
ed something  of  a  friendship,  from  seeing  each 
other  here  almost  every  day.  He  was  so  up- 
right, honorable,  and  simple  in  his  intentions, 
that  he  was  quite  unconscious  of  having  won  the 
heart  of  the  compassionate  creature.  I  warned 
him  of  it.  He  was  slow  to  believe  me  ;  yet, 
while  doubting  if  I  were  in  the  right,  he  deter- 
mined to  treat  her  with  more  coldness.  His 
greater  reserve,  instead  of  extinguishing  her 
love,  seemed  to  increase  it. 

As  the  window  of  her  room  was  scarcely  an 
arm's  length  above  the  level  of  the  terrace,  she 
used  to  spring  to  our  side,  under  the  pretence 
of  spreading  some  linen  in  the  sun,  or  of  doing 
some  other  trifling  thing,  and  there  she  would 
remain  to  look  ;it  us,  and,  if  she  could,  engage 
us  in   conversation. 

Our  [)()f)r  guards,  always  weary  from  having 
slept  little  or  not  at  all  during  the  niglit,  wil- 
lingly seized  the  opportunity  of  being  in  a  cor- 
ner, where  they  could  sit  on  the  grass  and 
doze,    without    being    seen    by    their   .superiors. 


294  MY    PRISONS. 

Maroncelli  was  then  greatly  embarrassed,  so 
evident  Avas  the  love  of  this  unfortunate  girl. 
My  embarrassment  was  still  greater.  Although 
such  scenes  might  have  been  matter  of  laughter, 
if  we  had  felt  but  little  respect  for  her,  yet  to 
us  they  were  serious,  and,  I  might  say,  touch- 
ing. The  unhappy  Hungarian  had  one  of  those 
countenances,  which  clearly  announce  virtuous 
habits  and  the  necessity  of  being  esteemed. 
She  was  not  handsome,  but  had  such  an  ex- 
pression of  refinement,  that  the  features  of  her 
countenance,  though  somewhat  irregular,  seem- 
ed to  acquire  beauty  with  every  smile  and  every 
motion  of  the  muscles. 

If  it  were  my  intention  to  write  of  love,  I 
should  still  have  much  to  relate  of  that  un- 
fortunate and  virtuous  young  woman,  —  now 
no  more.  But  it  is  sufficient  to  have  thus 
briefly  mentioned  one  of  the  few  incidents  of 
our  prison  life. 


MY    PRISONS.  295 


CHAPTER    LXXX. 

The  increased  severity  of  our  imprisonment 
rendered  our  life  every  day  more  monotonous. 
The  whole  of  1824,  of  1825,  of  1826,  and  of 
1827  ;  how  did  those  years  pass  with  us  ?  We 
were  deprived  of  that  use  of  our  books,  which 
had  been  granted  provisionally  by  the  governor. 
The  prison  became  like  a  tomb,  except  that 
the  tranquillity  of  the  tomb  was  not  permitted 
us.  Every  month,  but  not  on  regular  days,  the 
director  of  the  police,  accompanied  by  a  lieu- 
tenant and  guards,  came  to  make  a  thorough 
examination.  They  stripped  us  naked,  exam- 
ined all  the  seams  of  our  garments,  and  ripped 
open  and  thrust  their  hands  into  our  straw  beds, 
to  see  if  any  paper  or  other  article  was  conceal- 
ed in  them.  Although  nothing  clandestine  could 
ever  be  found  upon  us,  yet  there  was  some- 
thing in  these  hostilo  and  unexpected  visits,  re- 
peated without  end,  that  irritated  and  put  me  in 
a  fever  whenever  thoy  occurred. 

Unhappy  as  the  preceding  years  had  seemed 
to  mc,  yet  I  now  thought  of  them  with  regret, 


296  MY    PRISONS. 

as  a  time  of  precious  enjoyments.  Where  were 
the  hours  when  I  was  engrossed  by  the  study 
of  the  Bible,  or  of  Homer  ?  By  reading  Homer 
in  the  original,  the  little  knowledge  that  I  had 
of  Greek  was  increased,  and  I  was  passionately 
fond  of  the  language.  How  much  I  regretted 
that  I  could  not  continue  the  study  of  it  !  Dante, 
Petrarch,  Shakspeare,  Byron,  Walter  Scott, 
Schiller,  Goethe,  &c.,  how  many  friends  were 
taken  from  me  !  Among  them  I  remembered 
also  some  books  of  Christian  wisdom,  such  as 
Bourdaloue,  Pascal,  The  Imitation  of  Jesus 
Christ,  The  Filotea*  &c.,  books,  which,  if  read 
with  a  narrow  and  illiberal  spirit  of  ci'iticism, 
exulting  in  every  defect  of  taste  that  may  be  dis- 
covered, and  in  every  thought  which  is  not 
just,  may  be  thrown  aside  and  never  resumed  ; 
but  which,  if  read  without  prejudice,  and  with- 
out taking  offence  at  their  weak  parts,  discover 
a  high  philosophy,  and  afford  strong  nourish- 
ment  for  the  heart  and  for  the  intellect. 

Some    such    religious    books    were    afterwards 
sent  us   as    a   gift    from  the  Emperor,  but    with 

*  A    work    on    the   Love   of   God,  by    St.    Francis    de 
Sales. 


MY    PRISONS.  297 

the  absolute  exclusion  of  -works  of  any  other 
kind,  suitable   for  literary  studies. 

This  gift  of  devotional  books  was  obtained  for 
us  in  1825,  by  a  Dalmatian  confessor,  sent  to 
us  from  Vienna,  Father  Stephen  Paulowich,  who 
two  years  afterwards  was  made  bishop  of  Cat- 
taro.  To  him  we  were  likewise  indebted  for  at 
last  hearing  mass,  a  privilege  which  had  hith- 
erto been  denied  us,  on  the  ground  that  we 
could  not  be  conducted  to  church  and  kept  sep- 
arate  in  pairs,  as  was  directed. 

As  it  was  not  possible  that  v/e  should  be  thus 
separated  in  attending  mass,  wc  were  divided 
into  three  companies,  one  in  the  organ  gallery, 
another  beneath  the  gallery,  so  as  not  to  be 
seen,  and  the  third  in  a  small  oratory,  which 
looked   into  the   church  through   a  grate. 

Maroncelli  and  I  had  then  for  companions 
six  persons,  who  had  ])ccn  condemned  by  a 
sentence  prior  to  our  own  ;  but  each  couple 
was  prohibited  from  speaking  to  the  others. 
Two  of  these  individuals  had  been  my  neigh- 
bours in  the  Piomhi  of  Venice.  We  were 
conducted  by  guards  to  the  place  assigned  for 
us,  and,  after  mass,  each  pair  was  reconducted 
in  the  same  manner  to  their  cell.     A  capuchin 


298  MY    PRISONS. 

came  to  say  mass.  This  good  man  always 
ended  the  service  with  an  Oremiis,*  imploring 
our  liberation  from  chains  ;  and  his  voice  was 
moved.  When  he  came  from  the  altar,  he  cast 
a  look  of  compassion  on  each  of  the  three  com- 
panies of  prisoners,  and  mournfully  inclined  his 
head  in  prayer. 

*  A  prayer  introduced  with  the  word,  Oremus,  "  Let  us 
pray." 


MY    PRISONS.  299 


CHAPTER    LXXXI. 

I.v  1825,  Schiller  was  considered  as  so  much 
weakened  by  the  infirmities  of  old  age,  that  the 
custody  of  other  convicts  was  given  him,  for 
whom  it  seemed  so  much  vigilance  was  not  re- 
quired. How  grieved  we  were  to  lose  him, 
and  how  it  grieved  him  to  leave  us  ! 

Krai  was  his  immediate  successor,  a  man  not 
inferior  to  him  in  kindness.  But,  in  a  short  time, 
he  too  was  otherwise  employed,  and  a  person 
was  put  in  his  place,  who  was  not  bad,  but 
crabbed,  and  without  any  expression  of  feeling. 

These  changes  afflicted  me  deeply,  Schiller, 
Krai,  and  Kubitzki,  particularly  the  first  two, 
had  taken  care  of  us  in  our  illnesses,  as  a  father 
and  a  brother  might  have  done.  Incapable  of 
failing  in  their  duty,  they  knew  how  to  perform 
it  witliout  hardness  of  heart.  If  there  was  a 
little  harshness  of  manner,  it  was  almost  always 
involuntary,  and  the  affection  they  manifest- 
ed towards  us  was  a  full  compensation  for  it. 
I  was  sometimes  angry  with  them,  —  but  liow 
cordially   they   forgave    me  !    how    eagerly   they 


300  MY    PRISONS. 

desired  to  persuade  us,  that  they  were  not  with- 
out affection  for  us,  and  how  they  rejoiced  to 
perceive  that  we  were  persuaded  of  it,  and  that 
we  considered  them  as  worthy  men  ! 

After  he  was  separated  from  us,  Schiller  was 
repeatedly  attacked  by  illness,  from  which  he 
recovered.  We  inquired  for  him  with  filial  anx- 
iety. When  he  was  convalescent,  he  sometimes 
came  to  walk  under  our  window.  We  saluted 
him  by  coughing,  and  he  looked  up  with  a  mel- 
ancholy smile,  and  said  to  the  sentinel,  so  that 
we  could  hear  him  ;  Da  sind  meine  Sdhne  ! 
(There  are  my  sons  !) 

Poor  old  man  !  what  pain  it  gave  me  to  see 
you  slowly  dragging  along  your  feeble  limbs,  and 
to  be  unable  to   support  you  with  my  arm  ! 

Sometimes  he  seated  himself  on  the  grass, 
and  read.  The  books  were  the  same  which 
he  had  lent  me.  And  that  I  might  recognise 
them,  he  mentioned  their  titles  to  the  sentinel, 
or  repeated  some  passages  from  them.  For  the 
most  part,  they  were  tales  from  annuals,  or 
other    romances    of    little     literary     value,     but 

moral. 

After    several   attacks    of  apoplexy,   he    was 
carried  to  the  military  hospital.     He  was  already 


MY    PRISONS.  301 

in  a  wretched  state,  and  shortly  afterwards  died. 
He  possessed  a  few  hundred  florins,  the  fruit  of 
his  long  savings.  These  he  had  lent  to  some 
of  his  fellow-soldiers.  When  he  found  himself 
near  his  end,  he  called  those  friends  to  him  and 
said  ;  "  I  have  no  relations  ;  let  each  of  you 
keep  what  he  has  in  his  hands.  I  only  ask  you 
to  pray  for  me." 

One  of  these  friends  had  a  daughter,  eigh- 
teen years  old,  who  was  the  god-daughter  of 
Schiller.  A  few  hours  before  his  death,  the 
good  old  man  sent  for  her.  He  could  no  lon- 
ger speak  distinctly  ;  he  took  from  his  finger  a 
silver  ring,  the  last  of  his  wealth,  and  put  it  on 
hers.  Then  he  kissed  her,  and  as  he  kissed 
her,  he  wept.  The  girl  broke  out  into  lamenta- 
tions, and  covered  him  with  her  tears.  He 
wiped  them  away  with  his  handkerchief,  took  her 
hands,  and  placed  them  on  his  eyes.  Those 
eyes  were  closed  for  ever. 


302  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    LXXXII. 

Human  consolations  were  departing  from  us 
one  after  another  ;  our  troubles  continually  in- 
creased. I  resigned  myself  to  the  will  of  God, 
but  while  I  resigned  myself,  I  mourned  ;  and  my 
soul,  instead  of  becoming  inured  to  suflering, 
seemed  to  feel  it  more   and  more  sensibly. 

One  day,  a  sheet  of  the  Augsburg  gazette 
was  clandestinely  brought  to  me,  in  which  a 
very  strange  statement  was  published  concern- 
ing me,  in  connexion  with  an  account  of  one 
of  my  sisters  having  taken  the  veil. 

It  said,  "The  Signora  Maria  Angiola  Pellico, 
daughter,  &c.,  on  the  day  &c.,  took  the  veil  in 
the  Convent  of  La  Visitazione,  in  Turin,  &c. 
She  is  sister  of  the  author  of  Francesca  da 
Rimini,  Silvio  Pellico,  recently  liberated  from 
the  fortress  of  Spielberg,  through  the  favor  of 
His  Majesty  the  Emperor  ;  an  act  of  clemency 
worthy  of  so  magnanimous  a  sovereign,  and 
which  rejoices  all  Italy.      Since,"  &c. 

And  here  followed  a  panegyric  upon  me. 


MY    PRISONS.  303 

I  could  not  imagine  why  this  fable  about  the 
favor  of  His  Majesty  should  have  been  invented. 
That  it  was  the  mere  sport  of  a  journalist  did 
not  seem  likely.  Was  it  then  some  aitifice  of 
German  policy  ?  Who  can  tell  ?  But  the  name 
Maria  Angiola  was  precisely  that  of  my  young- 
est sister.  It  must,  without  doubt,  have  been 
copied  into  other  gazettes  from  the  Turin  ga- 
zette. Had  then  that  excellent  girl  really  be- 
come a  nun  .^  "Ah,"  thought  I,  "she  has  per- 
haps chosen  that  state  because  she  has  lost  her 
parents  !  Poor  girl  !  she  was  not  willing  that 
I  alone  should  suffer  the  misery  of  imprison- 
ment !  she  has  determined  to  seclude  herself 
likewise  !  May  the  Lord  grant  her  more 
patience  and  self-renunciation,  than  he  has 
granted  me  !  How  often  in  her  cell  will  that 
angel  think  of  me  !  How  often  will  she  undergo 
severe  penance  to  obtain  from  God  some  alle- 
viation  of  the   sorrows  of  her   brother  ! " 

These  thoughts  aHccted  and  distressed  me. 
"  My  misfortunes  may  then  have  shortened  the 
days  of  my  father,  or  of  my  mother,  or  of 
both  !"  The  more  I  thought  of  it,  the  more  it 
appeared  to  mc  impossible  that,  without  such  a 
loss,  my  dear  Marietta  should   have  abandoned 


304  MY    PRISONS. 

her  home.  This  idea  oppressed  me,  as  if  it  were 
a  certainty,  and  I  consequently  sunk  into  the 
deepest  sorrow. 

Maroncelli  was  not  less  affected  than  myself. 
Some  days  after,  he  began  to  compose  a  po- 
etical lament,  on  "  The  Sister  of  the  Pris- 
oner." He  produced  a  beautiful  little  poem, 
breathing  melancholy  and  sympathy.  When  it 
was  finished,  he  recited  it  to  me.  Oh,  how 
grateful  was  I  to  him  for  his  kindness  !  Among 
so  many  millions  of  verses,  of  which,  up  to 
this  time,  nuns  have  been  the  subject,  proba- 
bly these  were  the  first  that  were  composed 
in  a  dungeon,  for  the  brother  of  the  nun,  by 
his  companion  in  chains.  What  an  assemblage 
of  pathetic  and  religious  ideas. 

Thus  friendship  softened  my  sorrows.  But, 
from  that  time,  not  a  day  passed  in  which  my 
thoughts  did  not  long  wander  in  a  convent  of 
virgins,  dwelling  upon  one  among  those  virgins 
with  peculiar  tenderness  ;  and  I  earnestly  pray- 
ed Heaven  to  give  a  charm  to  her  solitude, 
and  not  to  suflfer  her  imagination  to  paint  my 
prison  in  too  horrible  colors. 


RIY    PRISONS.  305 


CHAPTER    LXXXIII. 

From  the  fact  that  this  gazette  came  to  me 
clandestinely,  the  reader  must  not  imagine  that 
I  succeeded  in  obtaining  frequent  intelligence 
from  the  world.  No  ;  all  around  me  were  kind, 
but  they  were  restrained  by  strong  fear.  Noth- 
ing, however  trifling,  was  done  clandestinely, 
except  when  it  was  evident  that  there  was 
really  no  hazard.  And  seldom,  indeed,  could 
this  be  the  case  in  the  midst  of  so  many  ex- 
aminations, ordinary  and  extraordinary. 

I  was  never  able  to  obtain  secret  infor- 
mation of  my  dear  friends  at  a  distance,  ex- 
cept the  abovcmentioned  notice  relative  to  my 
sister. 

My  apprehension  that  my  parents  were  no 
lonacr  livintj  was  some  time  afterward  rather 
increased  than  diminished  by  the  manner  in 
which  the  director  of  police  announced  to  mc 
that  my  family  were  well. 

"  His  Majesty  the  Emperor  commands  mc," 
said  he,  "  to  inform  you  that  your  relations  at 
Turin  are  well." 

20 


306  MY    PRISONS. 

I  trembled  with  pleasure  and  surprise  at  this 
information,  now  given  me  for  the  first  time, 
and  asked  for  further  particulars. 

"I  left,"  said  I,  "my  parents,  brothers,  and 
sisters  at  Turin.  Are  they  all  living  ?  Oh,  if 
you  have  a  letter  from  any  of  them,  I  entreat 
you  to  show  it  to  me  !  " 

"  I  can  show  you  nothing.  You  must  be 
satisfied  with  what  I  have  told  you.  It  is  a 
proof  of  the  Emperor's  clemency,  that  he  al- 
lows these  consoling  words  to  be  spoken.  It 
is  a  favor  which  has  not  before  been  granted  to 
any  one." 

"  I  acknowledge  it  to  be  a  proof  of  the  Em- 
peror's clemency  ;  but  you  must  feel  that  it 
is  impossible  for  me  to  derive  any  consolation 
from  words  so  vague.  Which  of  my  relations 
are   well  ^     Have  I   not  lost   any  of  them  ?  " 

"  I  regret.  Sir,  that  I  cannot  tell  you  more 
than   I   have  been  directed  to  do." 

And,   saying  this,  he  went  away. 

This  information  was  certainly  intended  to 
afibrd  me  consolation.  But  I  persuaded  myself 
that  the  Emperor,  though  he  had  yielded  to 
the  urgency  of  some  of  my  relations,  and  con- 
sented   that   this    information    should    be    given 


MY    PRISONS.  307 

me,  had,  at  the  same  time,  forbidden  that  any 
letter  should  be  shown  me,  as  I  might  learn 
from  it  who  of  my  dear  friends  had  been  taken 
away. 

A  few  months  after,  a  similar  announcement 
concerning  my  family  was  again  made  to  me, 
but  it  was  unaccompanied  by  any  letter,  or  any 
further  explanation. 

It  was  perceived  that  this  was  not  enough  to 
satisfy  me,  that  I  was  still  more  afflicted  in 
consequence  ;  and  nothing  further  was  ever  said 
to  me  of  my  family. 

The  idea  that  my  parents  were  dead,  that  my 
brothers  perhaps  were  dead  also,  and  Giusep- 
pina,  my  other  dearly  loved  sister,  and  that 
perhaps  Marietta,  the  sole  survivor,  miglit  soon 
die  under  the  anguish  of  solitude  and  the  aus- 
terities of  penance,  detached  me  more  and 
more  from  life. 

Sometimes,  when  violently  seized  by  new 
attacks  of  illness,  resembling  those  I  had  pre- 
viously suffered,  such  as  dreadful  colics,  with 
the  most  painful  symptoms,  like  those  of  the 
chohra-morbus,  I  hoped  to  die.  Yes,  the  ex- 
pression is  correct,  /  hoped. 


308  JMY    PRISONS. 

And  yet,  oh  the  contradictions  of  human  na- 
ture !  as  I  gave  a  glance  at  my  languishing 
companion,  my  heart  bled  at  the  thought  of 
leaving  him  alone,  and  I   desired   life  anew  ! 


MY    PRISONS.  309 


CHAPTER    LXXXIV. 

Three  times,  persons  of  high  rank  came  from 
Vienna  to  visit  our  prison,  in  order  to  ascer- 
tain that  there  were  no  abuses  of  discipline. 
The  first  visit  was  by  the  Baron  von  Miinch, 
who  compassionated  us  for  our  want  of  light, 
and  said  that  he  would  ask  permission  to  pro- 
long our  day,  by  causing  a  lamp  to  be  put  up, 
outside  of  the  small  opening  in  our  door,  for 
some  hours  in  the  evening.  His  visit  was  in 
1825.  A  year  afterwards  his  charitable  pur- 
pose was  carried  into  effect.  From  that  time, 
this  sepulchral  light  enabled  us  to  see  the  walls, 
and  to  avoid  breaking  our  heads  as  we  walked. 

The  second  visit  was  by  the  Baron  von 
Vogel.  He  found  me  in  a  wretched  state  of 
health,  and  hearing  that,  although  the  physician 
thought  coffee  would  l)c  beneficial  to  me,  he 
had  not  ventured  to  order  it,  because  it  was  a 
lu.xury,  he  spoke  a  word  in  my  favor,  and  the 
coffee  was  given  me. 

The  third  visit  was  by  some  other  noble- 
man of  tiie   Court,    I   know    not  whom,    a   man 


310  MY    PRISONS. 

between  fifty  and  sixty,  who  manifested  in  his 
words  and  manners  the  most  generous  com- 
passion. He  could  do  nothing  for  us  ;  but  the 
expression  of  his  kindness  was  a  favor  for  which 
we  were  grateful. 

Oh,  how  ardently  does  a  prisoner  desire  to 
see  beings  of  his  own  species  !  The  Christian 
religion,  so  full  of  humanity,  has  not  forgotten  to 
enumerate,  among  the  works  of  mercy,  the  visit- 
ing of  prisoners.  Our  sufferings  are  lightened  by 
the  presence  of  those  who  compassionate  our 
misfortunes,  even  when  they  give  us  no  other 
relief 

Entire  solitude  may  be  useful  for  the  amend- 
ment of  some  characters  ;  but  I  believe  that, 
in  general,  seclusion  would  be  much  more 
beneficial  if  not  pushed  to  an  extreme,  but 
combined  with  some  intercourse  with  society. 
At  least,  it  is  so  with  those  constituted  like  me. 
Unless  I  see  my  fellow-creatures,  I  concentrate 
my  love  on  too  small  a  number,  and  dislike 
all  others.  If  I  can  see,  I  will  not  say  a  great 
many,  but  a  reasonable  number,  I  feel  a  tender 
affection  for  the  whole  human  race. 

A  thousand  times  I  have  found  my  heart  so 
exclusively  attached  to  a  very  few,  and  so  full 


MY    PRISONS.  311 

of  hatred  towards  the  rest  of  men,  that  I  have 
been  shocked  by  it.  Then  I  would  go  to  the 
window,  sighing  to  see  some  new  face,  and 
thought  myself  happy  if  the  sentinel  did  not 
pass  too  near  the  wall  ;  if  he  were  at  such  a 
distance  from  it  that  I  could  see  him  ;  if  he 
raised  his  head  on  hearing  me  cough  ;  if  his 
physiognomy  were  good.  When  I  thought  I 
could  perceive  in  him  any  sentiments  of  compas- 
sion, I  felt  a  pleasing  emotion,  as  if  that  un- 
known soldier  were  an  intimate  friend.  When 
he  walked  away,  I  waited  for  his  return  with 
eager  solicitude  ;  and  if  he  looked  at  me  as  he 
came  back,  I  rejoiced  as  for  a  great  kindness. 
If  he  did  not  pass  again,  so  that  I  could  see 
him,  I  was  mortified,  like  him  who  loves,  and 
knows  that  his  love  is   disregarded. 


312  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    LXXXV. 

In  the  adjoining  cell,  formerly  occupied  by 
Oroboni,  were  now  confined  Don  Marco  Fortini 
and  Signer  Antonio  Villa.  The  latter,  once 
as  robust  as  Hercules,  suffered  much  from  hun- 
ger during  the  first  year,  and  when  more  food 
was  given  him,  he  no  longer  had  the  power  of 
digesting  it.  He  languished  for  a  long  time, 
and  when  reduced  almost  to  extremity,  he  ob- 
tained a  more  airy  cell.  The  mephitic  atmo- 
sphere of  a  narrow,  tomb-like  cell  was  without 
doubt  very  injurious  to  him,  as  it  was  to  all 
the  rest  of  us.  But  the  remedy  he  had  asked 
for  was  not  sufficient.  In  that  larger  room  he 
lingered  for  some  months  longer,  and  then, 
after  repeatedly  raising  blood,  he   died. 

He  was  attended  by  his  fellow-prisoner,  Don 
Fortini,  and  by  the  Abbe  Paulowich,  who  came 
in  haste  from  Vienna,  when  it  was  known  that 
he  was  dying. 

Although  I  was  not  connected  with  him  so 
closely  as  I  had  been  with  Oroboni,  yet  his 
death    greatly    afflicted    me.      I   knew    he  was 


MY    PRISONS.  313 

loved  with  the  utmost  tenderness  by  his  par- 
ents and  his  wife.  As  for  him,  he  was  more 
to  be  envied  than  lamented  ;  but  alas  for  those 
survivors  ! 

He  had  likewise  been  my  neighbour  in  the 
Piombi.  Tremerello  had  brought  me  several 
of  his  poems,  and  had  carried  some  of  mine  to 
him.  In  his  there  was  occasionally  an  expres- 
sion  of  deep  sentiment. 

After  his  death  my  feelings  seemed  to  be 
more  strongly  excited  for  him,  than  during  his 
life,  upon  hearing  from  the  guards  how  miser- 
ably he  had  suffered.  The  unhappy  man, 
though  very  religious,  could  not  resign  himself 
to  death.  He  experienced  the  greatest  degree 
of  horror  at  that  awful  transition,  though  al- 
ways blessing  the  Lord,  and  exclaiming  with 
tears  ;  —  "I  know  not  how  to  bend  my  will  to 
thine,  yet  I  wish  to  do  so  ;  work  thou  this 
miracle  in  me  !  " 

He  had  not  Oroboni's  courage  ;  but  he  imi- 
tated him  in  declaring  his  forgiveness  of  liis 
enemies. 

About  the  close  of  that  year  (it  was  182G),  we 
heard  one  evening  an  ill-sup[)resscd  sound  of 
several  persons   moving    about    in   the  corridor. 


314  MY    PRISONS. 

Our  ears  had  become  very  quick  in  distinguish- 
ing a  thousand  different  kinds  of  noises.  A 
door  was  opened  ;  we  knew  it  to  be  that  of 
the  advocate  Solera.  Another  door  was  opened  ; 
it  was  Fortini's.  Among  several  low  voices  we 
distinguished  that  of  the  director  of  police.  — 
What  can  it  be  ?  An  examination  at  so  late 
an  hour  ?    And  why  ? 

In  a  short  time,  they  came  again  into  the 
corridor.  We  heard  the  beloved  voice  of  For- 
tini  ;  —  "  Oh,  unlucky  !  excuse  me,  I  have  for- 
gotten one  volume  of  my  breviary." 

He  ran  quickly  back  to  get  the  book,  and 
then  rejoined  the  company.  The  door  of  the 
staircase  was  opened  ;  we  heard  their  footsteps 
to  the  bottom  ;  we  were  assured  that  those  two 
happy  men  had  received  their  pardon,  and, 
though  we  were  sorry  not  to  follow  them,  we 
rejoiced  in  their   liberation. 


MV    PRISONS .  315 


CHAPTER   LXXXVl. 

Might  no  inferences  with  regard  to  our- 
selves be  drawn  from  the  liberation  of  two  of 
our  companions  ?  Why  were  they  released, 
who  had  been  sentenced  like  us,  one  to  twen- 
ty years,  the  other  to  fifteen,  while  no  favor 
was  extended  to  us  and  to  many  others  ? 

Were  there  stronger  prejudices  against  those 
who  were  not  liberated  ?  Or  was  there  a  dis- 
position to  pardon  all,  but  at  short  intervals, 
two  at  a  time  ?  perhaps  every  month  ?  per- 
haps every  two  or  three  months  ? 

We  remained  for  some  time  in  this  uncer- 
tainty. But  more  than  three  months  passed 
and  no  one  else  was  set  at  liberty.  Towards 
the  close  of  1827,  we  thought  that  December 
might  be  determined  on  as  the  annual  period 
for  pardons.  But  Deceml)er  passed  and  noth- 
ing happened. 

We  cherished  these  expectations  till  the  sum- 
mer of  182fj,  when  the  seven  years  and  a  half 
of  punishment,  equivalent  according  to  the  Em- 
peror's word  to   fifteen  years,  would  terminate. 


316  MY    PRISONS. 

if  the  period  were  to  be  calculated  from  the 
time  of  my  arrest  ;  though  if  the  time  of  the 
trial  were  not  to  be  included,  (and  this  was 
the  more  probable  supposition,)  but  the  pun- 
ishment to  commence  from  the  publication  of 
the  sentence,  the  seven  years  and  a  half  would 
not  be   finished  till    1829. 

But  all  calculable  periods  passed,  and  no 
pardon  came.  In  the  mean  time,  even  before 
Solera  and  Fortini  were  released,  a  tumor 
had  appeared  on  the  left  knee  of  my  poor  friend 
Maroncelli.  At  first  the  pain  was  slight,  and 
only  obliged  him  to  limp.  Then  he  suffered 
from  dragging  his  chain,  and  rarely  went  to 
walk.  One  morning  in  the  autumn,  he  was  dis- 
posed to  go  out  with  me  to  breathe  a  little 
fresh  air  ;  there  was  snow  already,  and  in  a 
fatal  moment,  when  I  was  not  supporting  him, 
he  stumbled  and  fell.  The  shock  immediately 
caused  the  pain  in  his  knee  to  become  acute. 
We  carried  him  to  his  bed,  for  he  was  no  lon- 
ger able  to  stand.  When  the  physician  saw 
him,  it  was  at  last  decided  that  his  irons  should 
be  taken  off".  The  tumor  grew  worse  from 
day  to  day,  becoming  very  large,  and  more 
and  more  painful.     Such  were  the  sufferings  of 


MY    PRISONS.  317 

the    poor   invalid,   that   he    could  have    no  rest, 
either  in  or  out  of  his  bed. 

When  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  change 
his  place,  to  rise,  or  to  lie  down,  I  was  ob- 
liged to  take  hold  of  the  diseased  limb  with  the 
greatest  possible  delicacy,  and  move  it  very 
slowly  in  the  direction  required.  The  slightest 
change  of  position  would  sometimes  produce 
spasms,  which  lasted  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Leeches,  issues,  caustics,  fomentations  of  dif- 
ferent kinds  were  all  tried  by  the  physician. 
They  only  increased  his  sufferings.  After  the 
application  of  caustics,  suppuration  took  place. 
The  whole  tumor  became  one  sore  ;  but  the 
swelling  did  not  diminish,  and  the  opening  of 
the   sore  brought  no  relief  from  pain. 

Maroncelli  was  a  thousand  times  more  unfor- 
tunate than  myself;  but  yet  how  much  I  suf- 
fered with  him  !  The  duties  of  a  nurse  were 
a  pleasure  to  me,  since  they  were  performed 
for  so  worthy  a  friend.  But  to  behold  him  thus 
perishing  under  such  acute  and  protracted  tor- 
ments, and  to  be  unable  to  restore  him  to 
health  ;  to  foresee  tliat  liis  knee  would  never 
be  healed  ;  to  perceive  tlmt  he  himself  consid- 
ered death   more    probable    tlian    recovery  ;    all 


•^18  MY    PRISONS. 

this,  while  constantly  admiring  his  fortitude  and 
and  serenity  ;  —  oh  !  it  filled  me  with  unspeak- 
able anguish. 


MY    PRISONS.  319 


CHAPTER    LXXXVII. 

I.\  this  deplorable  condition  he  still  compos- 
ed verses,  he  sang,  he  conversed,  he  did  every 
thing  to  beguile  me  as  to  his  state,  to  conceal 
from  me  part  of  his  sufferings.  He  could  no 
longer  digest,  nor  sleep  ;  his  flesh  wasted  away 
frightfully  ;  he  frequently  fainted  ;  yet  some- 
times the  powers  of  life  would  rally  for  a  short 
time,  and  he  strove  to  encourage  me. 

What  he  suffered  for  nine  long  months  is 
indescribable.  At  last  permission  was  given  for 
a  consultation  to  be  held.  The  chief  physician 
came,  he  approved  all  that  the  other  physician 
had  done,  and  then,  without  pronouncing  his 
opinion  upon  the  disease,  or  upon  what  further 
means  were   to  be   used,  went  away. 

A  moment  after,  the  sub-intendant  came  and 
said  to  Maroncclli  ;  "  The  chief  physician  did 
not  venture  to  explain  himself  in  your  pres- 
ence ;  lie  feared  you  might  not  have  strength 
enough  to  hoar  a  hard  necessity  announced. 
I  have  assured  him  that  you  arc  not  wanting 
in  courage." 


320  MY    PRISONS. 

"  I  hope,"  said  Maroncelli,  "  that  I  have 
given  some  proof  of  it,  in  enduring  these  tor- 
ments without  complaint.  Would  they  pro- 
pose .  .  .  ?  " 

"  Yes,  amputation.  But  the  chief  physician, 
seeing  you  so  reduced,  hesitates  to  advise  it. 
In  so  weak  a  state,  do  you  feel  able  to  endure 
amputation  ?  Are  you  willing  to  expose  your- 
self to  the  danger  ...  ? " 

"  Of  dying  ?  And  shall  I  not  equally  die  in 
a  short  time^  if  an  end  is  not  put  to  this  evil  ^  " 

"  Then  we  will  immediately  send  a  statement 
of  every  thing  to  Vienna,  and  as  soon  as  per- 
mission comes  for  the   amputation  ..." 

"  What  ?    is  permission  necessary  }  " 

"Yes,  Signore." 

Eight  days  from  that  time,  the  expected  per- 
mission arrived. 

The  sick  man  was  carried  into  a  larger  room  ; 
he  requested  that  I  might  follow  him. 

"  I  may  expire  under  the  operation,"  he  said  ; 
"  let  me  at  least  find  myself  in  the  arms  of  my 
friend." 

My  attendance  was  permitted. 

The  Abbe  Wrba,  our  confessor  (successor 
to    Paulowich),  came    to    administer  the    sacra- 


MY    PRISONS.  321 

ments  to  the  unhappy  sufferer.  When  this  act 
of  religion  was  accomplished,  we  Avaited  for  the 
surgeons,  but  they  did  not  come.  Maroncelli 
then   began  to  sing  some  extemporary  verses. 

At  last,  the  surgeons  arrived  :  there  were 
two.  One  was  the  ordinary  surgeon  of  the 
house,  that  is  to  say,  our  barber,  who,  when- 
ever an  operation  was  to  be  performed,  had  the 
right  of  doing  it  with  his  own  hands,  and  would 
not  yield  the  honor  to  any  one  else.  The  other 
was  a  young  surgeon,  a  pupil  of  tlie  school  of 
Vienna,  already  enjoying  the  reputation  of  great 
ability.  He  was  sent  by  the  Governor  to  assist 
at,  and  direct  the  operation,  and  was  desirous 
of  performing  it  himself ;  but  he  was  obliged  to 
be   content  with  watching  over  its  execution. 

The  sick  man  was  seated  upon  the  side  of  the 
bed  with  his  legs  down  :  I  supported  him  in  my 
arms.  A  ligature  was  bound  round  the  limb, 
above  the  knee,  where  it  was  in  a  healthy  state, 
to  mark  where  the  incision  was  to  be  made. 
The  old  surgeon  cut  all  around,  about  half  an 
inch  deep,  then  he  drew  up  the  skin,  and  con- 
tinued to  cut  the  bared  muscles.  The  blood 
flowed  in  torrents  from  the  arteries,  but  they 
21 


322  MY    PRISONS. 

were  quickly  tied  with  a  silk  thread.  Lastly 
the  bone  was  sawed. 

Maroncelli  did  not  utter  a  cry.  When  he 
saw  them  carrying  away  the  amputated  limb, 
he  cast  upon  it  one  look  of  compassion  ;  then, 
turning  to  the  operating  surgeon,  he  said  : 

"  You  have  freed  me  from  an  enemy,  and  I 
have  no  means  of  rewarding  you," 

In  a  glass  upon  the  window,  there  was  a 
rose. 

"  I  beg  you  to  bring  me  that  rose,"  he  said 
to  me. 

I  brought  it  to  him.  He  offered  it  to  the  old 
surgeon,  saying  ;  "  I  have  nothing  else  to  pre- 
sent to  you    as    a  testimony  of  my   gratitude." 

He  took  the  rose,  and  wept. 


MV    PRISONS.  323 


CHAPTER    LXXXVIII, 

The  surgeons  had  supposed  that  the  infirm- 
ary of  Spielberg  would  supply  all  that  was  requi- 
site, except  the  instruments  which  they  brouo-ht 
with  them.  But  after  the  operation  they  found 
that  several  necessary  articles  were  wanting  ; 
cerecloth,  ice,  bandages,  &.c. 

The  poor  mutilated  patient  was  obliged  to 
wait  two  hours,  till  all  these  things  were  brought 
from  the  city.  At  last,  he  was  able  to  lie  down 
on  the  bed ;    and  ice  was  applied  to  the  stump. 

The  next  day  they  removed  the  clotted  blood 
from  the  stump,  washed  it,  drew  the  skin  over 
it,  and  bound  it  up. 

For  several  days  nothing  was  given  to  the 
patient,  but  half  a  cup-full  of  broth,  with  the 
yolk  of  an  egg  beaten  up.  When  the  danger 
of  fever  was  over,  they  began  to  strengthen 
him  gradually  with  more  nourishing  food.  The 
Emperor  had  ordered,  that,  till  his  health  should 
be  reestablished,  good  food  should  be  given  him 
from  the  kitchen  of  the  superintendent. 


324  MY    PRISONS. 

The  limb  was  healed  in  forty  days.  We 
were  then  carried  back  to  our  cell,  which  had, 
however,  been  enlarged  by  making  an  opening 
in  the  wall,  so  as  to  unite  our  old  den  with 
that  formerly  occupied  by  Oroboni  and  after- 
wards by  Villa. 

I  removed  my  bed  to  the  spot  where  that 
of  Oroboni  had  stood,  and  where  he  had  died. 
This  identity  of  place  was  dear  to  me  ;  it 
seemed  to  bring  me  nearer  to  him.  I  fre- 
quently dreamt  of  him  ;  and,  in  ti'uth,  his  spirit 
seemed  to  visit  me  and  cheer  me  with  heavenly 
consolations. 

The  horrible  sight  of  Maroncelli's  sufferings 
before  his  leg  was  cut  off,  during  the  operation, 
and  afterwards,  strengthened  my  mind.  God  had 
given  me  sufficient  health  at  the  time  of  his 
illness,  because  my  care  was  necessary  to  him  ; 
but  He  took  it  from  me  when  Maroncelli  was 
able  to  support  himself  on  crutches. 

I  had  several  very  painful  glandular  swel- 
lings. I  recovered  from  them,  and  they  were 
followed  by  pains  in  the  breast,  such  as  I  had 
had  before,  but  more  suffocating  than  ever,  ver- 
tigo, and  attacks  of  spasmodic  dysentery. 

"  My  turn  has  come,"  I  said  to  myself 
"  Shall  I  be  less  patient  than  my  companion  ?  " 


MY    PRISONS.  325 

I  then  endeavoured  to  imitate  his  virtue,  as 
far  as  I   could. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  every  situation,  in 
which  man  may  be  placed,  has  its  peculiar 
duties.  Those  of  the  sick  man  are  patience, 
fortitude,  and  constant  exertion  not  to  appear 
unamiable  to  those   around   him. 

Poor  Maroncelli,  on  his  crutches,  had  not  the 
activity  of  other  days  ;  and  he  regretted  it, 
fearing  that  he  might  not  attend  upon  me  so 
well.  He  also  feared,  that,  in  order  to  spare 
him  motion  and  fatigue,  I  might  not  avail  myself 
of  his  services  as  much   as  I   needed  them. 

And  so  it  sometimes  happened,  but  I  tried 
to  prevent  his   perceiving   it. 

Although  he  had  recovered  strength,  he  was 
not  free  from  suffering.  He  felt,  as  all  do,  who 
have  undergone  a  similar  operation,  painful 
sensations  in  the  nerves,  as  if  the  amputated 
limb  were  yet  living.  Tlic  foot,  the  leg,  and  the 
knee,  which  ho  no  linger  had,  still  pained  him. 
Beside  this,  the  bone,  having  been  badly 
sawed,  pushed  into  the  new  flesh,  and  caused 
frequent  sores.  It  was  not  till  about  a  year 
after,  that  the  stump  became  thoroughly  sound 
and  opened  no  more. 


326  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    LXXXIX. 

But  new  maladies  attacked  my  unfortunate 
friend,  and  almost  without  intermission.  At  first, 
he  suffered  from  pains  in  the  joints,  which  be- 
gan in  those  of  his  hands,  and  then  extended 
through  all  his  limbs.  These  continued  for  many 
months,  and  were  followed  by  the  scurvy.  In 
a  short  time  his  body  was  covered  with  livid 
spots,  presenting   a  frightful  appearance. 

I  sought  to  console  myself  by  the  reflec- 
tion ;  —  "  Since  we  are  to  die  here,  it  is  best 
that  one  of  us  should  be  attacked  by  the  scur- 
vy ;  it  is  a  contagious  disease,  and  will  carry 
us  to  the  tomb,  if  not  together,  at  least  within 
a  short  time  of  each  other." 

We  both  prepared  ourselves  for  death,  and 
were  tranquil.  Nine  years  of  imprisonment  and 
of  severe  suffering  had  at  last  reconciled  us  to 
the  idea  of  the  dissolution  of  our  bodies,  so 
worn  out  as  they  were,  and  in  need  of  rest. 
And  our  souls  trusted  in  the  goodness  of  God, 
and  looked  forward  to  a  reunion,  where  the 
wrath  of  man  would  cease,  and  where  we  pray- 


MY    PRISONS.  327 

ed  that  we  might  hereaftei'  meet  in  peace  even 
with  those  who  had  not  loved  us. 

In  former  years,  the  scurvy  had  made  great 
havoc  in  this  prison.  The  Governor,  when 
he  knew  that  Maroncelli  was  affected  by  that 
terrible  disease,  feared  it  might  again  become 
epidemic,  and  complied  with  the  direction  of 
the  physician,  who,  upon  the  ground  that  there 
was  no  effectual  remedy  for  Maroncelli  but  the 
open  air,  advised  that  he  should  be  kept  in  his 
room  as  little   as  possible. 

I,  being  his  room-mate,  and  likewise  suffering 
from  a  diseased  state  of  the  humors,  enjoyed 
the  same   advantage. 

We  were  out  during  all  those  hours,  when 
the  walk  was  not  occupied  by  others  ;  that  is 
to  say,  from  half  an  hour  before  dawn,  for  two 
hours  ;  then  during  dinner  time  if  we  pleased, 
and  afterward  for  three  hours  before  sunset. 
This  was  on  ordinary  days.  On  holidays,  the 
walk  not  being  frequented  by  others,  we  were 
out  from  morning  till  niglit,  except  at  the  din- 
ner hour. 

Another  sufferer,  about  seventy  years  old, 
whose  health  was  much  impaired,  was  associated 
with    us,    it   being  thought    that    the    open    air 


328  MY    PRISONS. 

might  be  beneficial  to  him  likewise.  It  was 
Signor  Costantino  Munari,  an  amiable  old  man, 
a  lover  of  literary  and  philosophical  studies, 
whose   society   was   very  agreeable  to   us. 

Computing  my  punishment,  not  from  the  pe- 
riod of  my  arrest,  but  from  that  of  my  con- 
demnation, the  seven  years  and  a  half  ended  on 
the  1st  of  July,  1829,  reckoning  from  the  date 
of  the  imperial  signature  of  my  sentence,  or 
on  the  22d  of  August,  reckoning  from  the  date 
of  its  publication.  But  these  periods  also  pass- 
ed, and  every  hope   died   away. 

Until  now  Maroncelli,  Munari,  and  I  some- 
times indulged  the  thought  that  we  might  again 
behold  the  world,  our  country,  and  our  families  ; 
and  this  gave  rise  to  conversations,  full  of 
longing,   of  piety,   and  of  love. 

August  having  passed,  then  September,  and 
then  the  whole  of  that  year,  we  accustomed 
ourselves  to  hope  for  nothing  more  upon  earth, 
except  the  unalterable  continuance  of  our  mu- 
tual friendship,  and  the  assistance  of  God  to 
accomplish  worthily  the  remainder  of  our  long 
sacrifice. 

How  inestimable  are  the  blessings  of  friend- 
ship   and   religion  !     They   shed  a   charm   over 


MY    PRISONS.  329 

the  hours  of  the  prisoner,  on  whom  the  hope 
of  pardon  no  longer  beams  !  Truly,  God  is 
with  the  unhappy  ;  —  with  the  unhappy  who 
love  ! 


330  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    XC. 

After  the  death  of  Villa,  the  Abbe  Paulo- 
wich  was  made  a  bishop.  The  Abbe  Wrba,  a 
Moravian,  professor  of  the  New  Testament  at 
Briinn,  a  distinguished  scholar  of  the  High 
Institute  at  Vienna,  succeeded  him  as  our  con- 
fessor. 

This  Institute  is  a  society  founded  by  the 
celebrated  Frint,  while  chaplain  of  the  Court. 
The  members  are  all  priests,  who  having  al- 
ready taken  their  degrees  in  theology,  prose- 
cute their  studies  here  under  severe  discipline, 
in  order  to  acquire  the  greatest  amount  of  at- 
tainable knowledge.  The  design  of  the  founder 
was  excellent  :  it  was  to  provide  for  the  constant 
dissemination  of  true  and  solid  science  among 
the  Catholic  clergy  of  Germany.  And  this 
object  is  in  general  accomplished. 

As  Wrba  resided  at  Briinn,  he  was  able  to 
give  us  a  much  greater  portion  of  his  time 
than  Paulowich.  He  became  to  us  what  Fa- 
ther Battista  had  been,  except  that  he  was  not 
allowed  to  lend  us  books.     We  often  had  long 


MY    PRISONS."  331 

conferences  together,  which  were  of  great  ser- 
vice to  my  reUgious  character  ;  or,  if  this  is 
saying  too  much,  they  at  least  appeared  so  to 
me,  and  great  was  the  comfort  I  derived  from 
them. 

In  the  year  1829,  he  fell  sick  ;  and  being 
afterwards  summoned  to  other  duties,  he  could 
no  longer  visit  us.  This  caused  us  much  re- 
gret, but,  happily  for  us,  he  was  succeeded  by 
another  learned  and  excellent  man,  the  Abbe 
Ziak,  a  vice-curate. 

Of  all  the  German  priests,  who  were  appoint- 
ed to  visit  us,  not  one  proved  to  be  bad.  We 
did  not  discover  one  who  was  disposed  to  make 
himself  a  political  agent  (a  fact  easily  ascer- 
tained), not  one  who  did  not  possess  the  com- 
bined excellences  of  much  learning,  a  decided 
Catholic  faith,  and  profound  philosophy.  How 
truly  respectable  arc  such  ministers  of  the 
Church  ! 

The  few  with  whom  I  was  acquainted,  made 
me  conceive  a  iiigh  opinion  of  llic  German 
Catholic  clergy. 

The  Al)bc  Ziiik  likewise  held  long  confer- 
ences with  us.      He  also  gave  me  an  example 


332  MY    PRISONS. 

of  suffering  pain  with  serenity.  He  was  tor- 
mented continually  by  colds  affecting  his  teeth, 
throat,  and  ears,  and  yet  he  was  always 
cheerful. 

Meanwhile  the  open  air  gradually  caused  Ma- 
roncelli's  scorbutic  spots  to  disappear,  and  Mu- 
nari  and  myself  were  better. 


MY    PRISONS.  333 


CHAPTER    XCI. 

The  1st  of  August,  1830,  arrived.  The 
tenth  year  was  passing  away  since  I  had  lost 
my  liberty  ;  I  had  been  suffering  severe  im- 
prisonment for  nearly  eight  years  and  a  half. 

It  was  Sunday.  We  went,  as  on  other  holi- 
days, to  the  usual  enclosure.  We  again  beheld, 
from  the  projection  along  the  lower  part  of  the 
prison  wall,  the  valley  beneath,  and  the  ceme- 
tery where  lay  Oroboni  and  Villa  ;  we  again 
spoke  of  the  rest  that  our  bones  might  one 
day  find  there.  We  again  seated  ourselves  on 
the  accustomed  bench,  to  wait  till  the  poor 
female  convicts  should  come  to  their  mass,  which 
was  said  before  ours.  They  were  taken  to  the 
same  oratory  into  which  we  were  to  go  for  the 
following  mass.     It  was  adjoining  the  walk. 

It  id  customary  in  Germany  for  tlie  people 
to  sing  hymns  in  tlicir  own  language  during 
mass.  As  the  Austrian  empire  is  a  country  in 
which  Germans  and  Schivonians  are  mingled, 
and  as  at  Spielberg  the  greater  number  of  the 
common  convicts  belongs  to  one  or  the  other  of 


334  MY    PRISONS. 

those  nations,  the  hymns  are  sung  on  one  holi- 
day in  German,  and  on  another  in  Sclavonic. 
So,  on  every  holiday,  two  sermons  are  preach- 
ed, alternately  in  the  two  languages.  It  was 
a  great  pleasure  to  us  to  hear  those  hymns, 
and  the   organ  that  accompanied  them. 

There  were  some  of  the  women  whose  voices 
went  lo  the  heart.  Unhappy  creatures  !  Some 
of  them  were  very  young.  Love,  jealousy,  or 
bad  example  had  drawn  them  into  crime.  — 
Their  devotional  hymn  of  the  Sanctus  I  seem 
yet  to  hear  :  —  Heilig  !  heilig  !  heilig  !  (Holy  ! 
holy  !  holy  !)     It  affected  me  even   to  tears. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  women  withdrew,  and  we 
went  to  mass,  I  again  saw  those  of  my  com- 
panions in  misfortune,  who  heard  mass  in  the 
organ  gallery,  separated  from  us  only  by  a 
grate,  all  pale  and  emaciated,  dragging  their 
chains  with  difficulty. 

After  mass  we  returned  to  our  cells.  In  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  dinner  was  brought  us. 
We  had  prepared  our  table,  which  consisted 
of  a  board  laid  on  one  of  our  beds,  and  had 
taken  up  our  wooden  spoons,  when  the  sub- 
intendent,  Wegrath,  entered  the  cell. 


MY    PRISONS.  335 

"  I  am  sorry  to  disturb  your  dinner,"  said 
he,  "  but  be  pleased  to  follow  me  j  the  direc- 
tor of  police  is  here." 

As  he  commonly  came  on  unpleasant  busi- 
ness, to  examine  or  search,  we  followed  the 
good  sub-intendent  in  ill-humor  into  the  hall 
of  audience. 

There  we  found  the  director  of  police  and 
the  superintendent  ;  the  former  bowed  to  us 
with  more  than  usual  civility.  He  took  a  pa- 
per in  his  hand,  and  as  he  spoke,  paused  be- 
tween his  words,  through  fear  perhaps  of  causing 
us  too  great  a  surprise,  if  he  expressed  himself 
more  directly. 

"  Gentlemen,  ...  I  have  the  pleasure  ...  I 
have  the  honor  ...  of  informing  you  .  .  .  that  His 
Majesty  the  Emperor  has  again  granted  ...  a 
favor  ..." 

He  hesitated  to  tell  us  what  the  favor  was. 
We  thought  it  might  be  some  mitigation  of 
punishment  ;  such  as  being  exempted  from  the 
vexation  of  labor,  or  having  more  books,  or 
less  disgusting  food. 

"  But  do  you  not  understand  ?  "    said  he. 

"We  do  not.  Have  the  goodness  to  exjilain 
to  us  what  the  favor  may  be." 


336  MY    PRISONS. 

"It  is  liberty  for  both  of  you,  and  for  a  third, 
whom  you  will  shortly  embrace." 

It  may  seem  as  if  this  intelligence  ought  to 
have  made  us  break  forth  into  joy.  But  our 
thoughts  instantly  turned  to  our  relatives,  of 
whom,  for  so  long  a  time,  we  had  received  no 
information  ;  and  the  fear  that  we  might  never 
see  them  again  on  earth  distressed  us  so  much, 
that  it  destroyed  the  pleasure  excited  by  the 
announcement  of  our  liberty. 

"Are  you  struck  dumb  ?"  said  the  director 
of  police.  "  I  expected  to  see  you  transported 
with  joy." 

"I  beg  you,"  replied  I,  "to  inform  the  Em- 
peror of  our  gratitude  ;  but,  until  we  shall  have 
news  from  our  families,  it  is  impossible  for  us 
not  to  fear  that  we  may  have  been  deprived 
of  some  of  those  whom  we  most  tenderly  love. 
This  uncertainty  oppresses  us,  even  at  a  mo- 
ment which  should  be  one  of  the  greatest  joy." 

He  then  gave  to  Maroncelli  a  letter  from  his 
brother,  which  alleviated  his  anxiety.  To  me 
he  said,  that  there  was  nothing  from  my  fam- 
ily ;  and  this  made  me  fear  still  more  that 
some  misfortune  had  happened  in  it. 


MY    PRISONS.  337 

"Return  to  your  room,"  he  added,  "and  I 
will  shortly  send  to  you  the  third  person,  who 
has  also  been  pardoned." 

We  went,  and  expected  our  companion  with 
anxiety.  We  could  have  wished  that  all  should 
join  us,  yet  there  could  be  but  one. — Would 
it  were  poor  old  Munari  !  would  it  were  this 
one  !  would  it  were  that  !  There  was  not  one 
for  whom  we    did  not  make  this  wish. 

At  last  the  door  opened,  and  we  saw  that 
our  companion  was  to  be  Signer  Andrea  To- 
nelli  of  Brescia. 

We  embraced  each  other.  We  could  eat 
no   dinner. 

We  talked  till  evening,  compassionating  the 
friends  who    were  to   be   left  behind. 

At  sunset  the  director  of  police  returned  to 
take  us  from  that  wretched  abode.  Our  hearts 
were  pained  as  we  passed  by  the  cells  of  be- 
loved friends,  whom  we  were  unable  to  take 
with  us.  Who  could  tell  how  much  longer  they 
would  still  languish  there  ?  Who  could  tell 
how  many  of  them  would  there  be  tlie  prey 
of  a   lingering   death  ? 

A   soldier's   cloak  and   cap   were  ))ut  on   each 
of  us,    and    thus,  in   our  dress  of  galley-slaves, 
22 


338  MY    PRISONS. 

but  unchained,  we  descended  the  ill-fated  mount, 
and  were  carried  into  the  city  to  the  prison 
of  the  police. 

It  was  a  most  beautiful  moonlight  evening. 
How  pleasing  and  how  strange  did  the  streets, 
the  houses,  the  peo{ile  whom  we  met,  every 
thing  we  beheld,  appear  to  me  after  the  many 
years  in  which  I  had  seen  no  such  spectacle  ! 


M  V    P  R  I  S  O  K  S  .  339 


CHAPTER    XCII. 

We  waited  in  the  prison  of  the  police  for 
an  imperial  commissary,  who  was  to  come  from 
Vienna  to  accompany  us  to  the  frontier.  In 
the  mean  time,  as  our  trunks  had  been  sold, 
we  provided  ourselves  with  linen  and  other 
clothes,  and  put   off  the  livery  of  the  prison. 

At  the  end  of  five  days  the  commissary  ar- 
rived ;  and  the  director  of  police  consigned  us 
to  him,  putting  into  his  hands  at  the  same 
time  the  money  which  we  had  brought  to  Spiel- 
berg, and  that  which  was  received  from  the 
sale  of  our  trunks  and  books  ;  which  money 
was  afterwards  returned  to  us  when  Ave  reach- 
ed the   frontier. 

The  expense  of  our  journey  was  liberally  de- 
frayed by  the    Emperor. 

The  commissary  was  named  Von  Noe,  a  gen- 
tleman employed  in  the  office  of  the  minister 
of  police.  We  could  not  have  been  committed 
to  the  charge  of  a  man  more  thoroughly  well- 
bred.  He  always  treated  us  with  tlie  greatest 
consideration. 


340  MY    PRISONS. 

But  I  left  Brunn  with  a  very  painful  difficulty 
of  breathing,  and  the  motion  of  the  carriage 
increased  this  so  much,  that  in  the  evening  it 
became  alarming,  and  it  was  feared  every 
moment  that  I  should  be  suffocated.  Beside 
this,  I  was  all  night  in  a  burning  fever,  and  in 
the  morning  the  commissary  was  uncertain  if  I 
were  able  to  continue  the  journey  as  far  as 
Vienna.  I  said,  "  Yes,"  and  we  set  out  ;  but 
my  suffering  was  extreme  ;  I  could  neither 
eat,  drink,  nor  speak. 

I  arrived  at  Vienna  half  dead.  A  comfortable 
lodging  was  provided  for  us  at  the  general 
directory  of  police.  I  was  put  to  bed,  and  a 
physician  was  called,  who  ordered  me  to  be 
bled.  This  afforded  me  relief;  and,  by  means 
of  careful  dieting  and  a  great  deal  of  digitalis 
for  eight  days,  I  recovered.  Dr.  Singer  was 
my  physician  ;  and  his  attentions  to  me  were 
very  friendly. 

I  had  the  greatest  anxiety  to  continue  our 
journey,  particularly  because  the  news  of  the 
three  days  at  Paris  had  reached  us. 

On  the  very  day  when  that  revolution  broke 
out,  the  Emperor  had  signed  the  decree  for  our 
liberation.     Certainly,  he  would  not  now  revoke 


MY    PRISONS.  341 

it.  But  yet  it  was  not  improbable,  that,  in  such 
a  critical  state  of  things  throughout  Europe, 
popular  movements  might  be  apprehended  even 
in  Italy  ;  and  that  Austria  might  not  choose, 
at  that  moment,  to  allow  us  to  return  to  our 
country.  We  were  well  persuaded  that  we 
should  not  be  carried  back  to  Spielberg  ;  but 
we  feared  that  some  one  might  suggest  to  the 
Emperor  to  send  us  to  some  city  of  the  empire 
at  a  distance  from  the  Peninsula. 

I  therefore  tried  to  appear  better  than  I 
really  was,  and  begged  that  our  departure 
might  be  hastened.  Meanwhile  it  was  my  ar- 
dent desire  to  present  myself  to  His  Excellency 
the  Count  of  Pralormo,  envoy  from  the  court  of 
Turin  to  the  court  of  Austria,  to  whose  goodness 
I  knew  how  much  I  was  indebted.  He  had 
labored  with  tlie  most  generous  and  constant 
earnestness  to  obtain  my  liberation.  But  I  was 
prohibited  from  seeing  any  one,  and  the  order 
admitted  of  no  exception. 

I  was  scarcely  convalescent,  when  a  carriage 
was  graciously  sent  us  fnr  several  days,  that 
we  niiiibt  drive  a  little  ;il)(>iit  N'icnna.  The 
commissary  was  lefpiircd  to  accompany  us,  and 
not    to    allow    us    to    speak   with   any   one.     We 


342  MY    PRISONS. 

saw  the  beautiful  church  of  St,  Stephen,  the 
delightful  walks  of  the  city,  the  neighbouring 
villa  of  Lichtenstein,  and,  lastly,  the  imperial 
villa  of  Schonbrunn. 

While  we  were  in  the  magnificent  avenues  of 
Schonbrunn,  the  Emperor  passed,  and  the  com- 
missary made  us  retire,  that  the  sight  of  our 
emaciated  figures  might  not  sadden  him. 


MY    PRISONS.  343 


CHAPTER    XCIII. 

At  last  we  left  Vienna,  and  I  was  able  to 
hold  out  as  far  as  Bruck.  Here  the  asthma 
returned  with  violence.  We  summoned  a  phy- 
sician, a  certain  Dr.  Judmann,  a  very  respect- 
able man.  He  ordered  me  to  be  bled,  to  remain 
in  bed,  and  to  continue  the  digitalis.  After  two 
days,  I  entreated  that  we  might  pursue  our 
journey. 

We  traversed  Austria  and  Styria,  and  entered 
Carinthia  without  any  particular  occurrence  ; 
but  when  we  arrived  at  a  village  called  Feld- 
kirchen,  a  short  distance  from  Klagcnfurt,  a 
counter  order  arrived.  We  were  to  remain 
there  till  new  directions  were  sent, 

I  leave  it  to  l)c  imagined  how  unpleasant  this 
circumstance  was  to  us.  I  had  tiic  additional 
grief  of  reflecting,  flmt,  should  my  companions 
not  return  to  their  country,  my  unfortunate 
illness  would  be  the  cause  of  their  suffering 
such  a   privation. 

We  remained  five  days  at  Foldkirchen,  where 
the   commissary   did   all    iii   his  power   (o   amuse 


344  MY    PRISONS. 

US.  There  was  a  small  theatre  in  the  place, 
to  which  he  took  us.  One  day  he  entertained 
us  with  a  hunt.  Our  host,  and  several  young 
men  of  the  country,  with  the  proprietor  of  a 
fine  forest,  were  the  hunters,  and  we  enjoyed 
the  spectacle  from  a  convenient  situation. 

At  last  a  courier  came  from  Vienna  with 
orders  to  the  commissary  to  proceed  with  us  to 
our  place  of  destination.  I  rejoiced  with  my 
companions  at  this  happy  news  ;  but  at  the 
same  time  I  trembled,  lest  the  day  of  a  sad 
discovery  might  be  drawing  near  ;  the  discovery, 
that  my  father,  my  mother,  or  others  of  my 
dear  family  were  no  more. 

And  my  melancholy  increased  as  we  ap- 
proached Italy. 

The  entrance  into  Italy  on  that  side  is  not 
pleasing  to  the  eye.  You  descend  to  its  plains 
from  the  beautiful  mountains  of  Germany, 
through  a  long  tract  of  sterile  and  uninteresting 
countiy  ;  so  that  when  travellers,  unacquainted 
with  our  Peninsula,  take  this  road,  they  smile 
at  the  magnificent  ideas  they  had  formed,  and 
suspect  that  they  have  been  deceived  by  those, 
from  whom  they  have  heard  its  praises. 


MY    PRISONS.  345 

The  absence  of  beauty  in  the  scenery  con- 
tributed to  render  me  more  sad.  To  see  the 
sky  of  Italy  once  more,  to  meet  human  faces 
without  the  northern  contour,  to  hear  from  every 
mouth  the  sounds  of  my  native  tongue,  affected 
me  ;  but  it  was  an  emotion  more  allied  to  tears 
than  joy.  How  many  times,  in  the  carriage,  did 
I  cover  my  face  with  my  hands,  pretending  to 
sleep,  and  wept  !  How  many  feverish  nights 
did  I  pass  without  closing  my  eyes  ;  now,  be- 
stowing with  my  whole  soul  the  warmest  bene- 
dictions on  my  beloved  country,  and  thanking 
Heaven  for  having  restored  me  to  it  ;  now, 
tormenting  myself,  because  I  had  no  news  from 
my  family,  and  imagining  various  disasters  ; 
now,  thinking  that  in  a  little  while  I  should  be 
forced  to  part,  perhaps  for  ever,  from  a  friend 
who  had  suffered  so  much  with  mc,  and  had 
given  me  so  many  proofs  of  fraternal  love  ! 

Ah  !  long  years  of  burial  had  not  exhausted 
the  strength  of  my  feelings  !  but  liow  much 
more  susceptible   were   they   of   sorrow    than  of 

joy ' 

How  I  could  liavc  wished  to  sec  Udine  once 
more,    and    the   inn    where  those   two   generous 


346  MY    PRISONS. 

friends  had   pretended   to   be    servants,    and  by 
stealth  had  pressed  our  hands  ! 

We  passed  that  city  on  our  left,  and  went  on. 


MY    PRISONS.  347 


CHAPTER    XCIV. 

PoRDENONE,  Conegliano,  Ospedaletto,  Vi- 
cenza,  Verona,  Mantua,  —  how  much  did  they 
recall  to  my  mind  !  Pordenone  was  the  native 
city  of  an  excellent  young  man,  who  had  been 
my  friend,  and  who  perished  in  the  campaign  in 
Russia ;  Conegliano  was  the  place,  to  which 
the  secondini  of  the  Piombi  told  me  that  Zanze 
had  been  taken  ;  in  Ospedaletto  had  been 
married,  but  was  now  no  more,  an  angelic  and 
unhappy  being,  whom  in  times  past  I  had  vene- 
rated, and  whom  I  venerated  still.  In  all  those 
places  remembrances  more  or  less  dear  to  me 
rose  to  my  mind  ;  and  above  all  in  Mantua.  It 
appeared  to  me  but  yesterday,  that  I  was  there 
with  Lodovico  di  Breme  in  I8I0  !  it  appeared 
but  yesterday,  that  I  was  there  with  I*orro  in 
1820  !  —  Tliere  were  the  same  streets,  the  same 
squares,  the  same  palaces,  hut  wli;it  changes  in 
society  !  How  many  of  my  acrjuaintance  had 
been  taken  away  by  death  !  how  many  were  in 
exile  !  a  generation  luni  sprung  up  ol"  young 
people  whom    I    had    seen    in    infancy  !     And   I 


348  MY    PRISONS. 

might  not  visit  a  single  house  ;  I  might  not 
inquire  of  any  one  respecting  those  I  had 
known  ! 

To  complete  my  affliction,  Mantua  was  the 
place  where  Maroncelli  and  I  were  to  part. 
We  both  passed  a  very  sad  night.  I  was  agi- 
tated like  a  man  on  the  eve  of  hearing  his 
condemnation. 

In  the  morning  I  washed  my  face,  and  looked 
in  the  glass,  to  see  if  any  traces  of  tears 
remained.  I  assumed,  as  well  as  I  could,  an 
air  of  tranquillity  and  cheerfulness  ;  I  address- 
ed a  short  prayer  to  Heaven,  but  in  truth 
with  wandering  thoughts  ;  and  hearing  Maron- 
celli now  moving  on  his  cx'utches,  and  speaking 
to  the  servants,  I  went  to  embrace  him.  We 
both  seemed  to  have  collected  all  our  fortitude 
for  this  separation  ;  we  spoke  to  each  other,  not 
without  emotion,  but  with  unfaltering  voices. 
The  officer  of  gendarmerie,  who  was  to  conduct 
him  to  the  borders  of  Romagna,  arrived  ;  we 
were  obliged  to  part  ;  we  scarcely  knew  what 
to  say  to  each  other  ;  an  embrace,  a  kiss,  yet 
one  more  embrace. — He  entered  the  carriage, 
he  disappeared  ;  and  I  remained  as  if  anni- 
hilated. 


MY   PRISONS.  349 

I  returned  to  my  room.  I  threw  myself  on 
my  knees,  and  prayed  for  that  poor  mutilated 
man,  separated  from  his  friend.  I  burst  into 
tears  and  sobs. 

I  have  known  many  excellent  men,  but  none 
more  affectionately  social  than  Maroncelli  ;  none 
more  thoroughly  versed  in  all  the  ways  of  kind- 
ness, more  exempt  from  all  inequalities  of  tem- 
per, or  more  continually  mindful,  that  virtue 
consists  in  the  habitual  practice  of  forbearance, 
generosity,  and  good  sense.  May  Heaven  bless 
thee,  companion  of  so  many  years  of  sorrow, 
wherever  thou  art,  and  give  thee  friends,  who 
will  equal  me  in  love,  and  excel  me  in  good- 
ness ! 


350  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    XCV. 

We  left  Mantua  the  same  morning  for  Bre- 
scia. My  other  fellow-captive,  Andrea  Tonelli, 
was  here  left  at  liberty.  The  unhappy  man 
learnt  that  he  had  lost  his  mother,  and  his  tears 
of  anguish  wrung  my  heart. 

But,  amid  all  my  suffering  from  so  many 
causes,  I  was  somewhat  amused  by  the  follow- 
ing incident. 

On  a  table  in  the  inn  there  was  a  play-bill. 
I  took  it  up  and  read: — Francesca  da  Rimini, 
an  opera,  ^c. 

"  Whose  opera  is  this  ?  "  said  I  to  the  ser- 
vant. 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  he  replied,  "  who  has  put  it 
into  rhyme,  or  who  has  set  it  to  music  ;  but 
it  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  that  Francesca 
da  Rimini,  which  everybody  knows.  " 

"  Everybody  ?  You  are  mistaken.  I  who 
have  just  come  from  Germany,  what  should  I 
know  about  your  Francescas  !  " 

The    servant     (he    was    a    young    man    with 


MY    PRISONS.  351 

a  rather  scornful  countenance,  truly  Brescian,) 
looked  at  me  with  contemptuous  pity. 

"  What  should  you  know  i  Signore,  we  do 
not  talk  about  Francescas.  There  is  only  one 
Francesca  da  Rimini,  that  is  spoken  of.  I  mean 
the  tragedy  of  Signor  Silvio  Pellico.  Here  they 
have  made  an  opera  of  it,  spoiling  it  a  little, 
but  still  it  is  the  same  thing   after  all.  " 

"  Ah  !  Silvio  Pellico  ?  I  think  I  have  heard 
of  him.  Is  he  not  that  good-for-nothing  fellow 
who  was  condemned  to  death,  and  then  to 
severe  imprisonment,  eight  or  nine  years  ago  r  " 

Would  I  had  not  uttered  that  joke  !  He 
looked  round,  then  looked  at  me,  then,  with  an 
angry  grin,  showed  thirty-two  fine  teeth,  and 
if  he  had  not  heard  a  noise,  I  believe  he  would 
have  knocked  me  down. 

He  went  out  muttering,  "  Good-for-nothing 
fellow  !  "  —  But  before  I  went  away,  he  discov- 
ered who  I  was.  From  that  time  he  could 
neither  ask  questions,  nor  answer  them,  nor 
attend  to  his  business.  He  could  do  nothing 
but  fix  liis  eyes  on  mo,  rub  his  hands,  and  say 
to  every  body,  without  any  meaning  ;  Sior  si, 
Sior  si  !  (Yes,  Sir  ;  yes.  Sir,)  which  .sounded 
as  if  he  were  sneezing. 


352  MY    PRISONS. 

Two  days  after,  on  the   ninth  of  September, 
I    arrived    with    the    commissary    at  Milan.     On 
approaching  this  city,   on  seeing  once  more  the 
cupola  of  the  Cathedral,  on  passing  through  the 
avenue    of   Loreto,    once    my    accustomed    and 
favorite  walk,   on   reentering  the  Eastern  Gate, 
and  finding  myself  again  in  the  Corso  ;  on  aorain 
seeing  those  houses,  those  temples,  those  streets, 
I  experienced  the  most  agreeable   and  the  most 
painful  emotions  ;  a  passionate  desire  to  remain 
some   time  in  Milan,  and  again  to  embrace  the 
friends   whom    I    might    still   have   found  there  ; 
the  deepest  sorrow  at  the  thought  of  those  whom 
I  had  left  at  Spielberg,  of  those  who  were  wan- 
dering   in    foreign    lands,    of  those    who    were 
dead  ;    lively   gratitude,    as   I    remembered   the 
attachment   which  the  Milanese  had  in   general 
shown  to  me  ;    and   some    feelings  of  anger  to- 
wards    individuals    who    had    calumniated    me, 
though  they  had  always  been  the  objects  of  my 
good-will  and  esteem. 

We  went  to  lodge  at  the  Bella   Vcnezia. 

Here  I  had  often  been  present  at  cheerful, 
friendly  entertainments  ;  here  I  had  visited 
many  distinguished  foreigners  ;  here  a  respect- 
able old  lady  urged  me,  but  in  vain,  to  follow 


MY    PRISONS.  353 

her  into  Tuscany,  foreseeing  that  if  I  remained 
in  Milan,  misfortunes  would  befall  me.  What 
affecting  recollections  !  Oh  departed  days,  so 
chequered  with  pleasures  and  pains,  and  so 
rapid  in  your  flight  ! 

The  servants  of  the  inn  soon  discovered  who 
I  was.  The  report  spread,  and  towards  evening 
I  saw  many  persons  stop  in  the  square,  and 
gaze  at  the  windows.  One,  I  know  not  who 
he  was,  appeared  to  recognise  me,  and  saluted 
me  by  raising  both  his  arms. 

Ah  !  where  were  the  sons  of  Porro,  my  song  ? 
Why  did  I  not  see  them  ? 


23 


354  31  y   PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    XCVI. 

The  commissary  took  me  to  the  police,  to 
present  me  to  the  director.  What  were  my 
sensations  on  again  seeing  that  building,  my 
first  prison  !  How  many  sorrows  it  brought 
back  to  my  recollection  !  With  what  emotion 
did  I  think  of  you,  Melchiorre  Gioja  ;  of  the 
hurried  steps  with  which  I  saw  you  traverse 
your  narrow  cell,  and  of  the  hours  when  you 
remained  immovable  at  your  table,  writing 
your  noble  thoughts  ;  of  the  signs  you  made 
me  with  your  handkerchief,  and  of  the  sadness 
with  which  you  looked  at  me,  when  you  were 
forbidden  to  make  them  !  And  I  thought  of 
your  grave,  unknown  perhaps  to  the  greater 
part  of  those  who  love  you,  as  it  was  to  me  !  — 
and  I  implored  peace  for  your  spirit. 

I  recollected,  too,  the  dumb  boy,  the  pathetic 
voice  of  Maddalena,  my  throbbings  of  compas- 
sion for  her,  my  neighbours  the  thieves,  the 
pretended  Louis  the  Seventeenth,  and  the  poor 
convict    on    whom    my    note   was    found,    and 


MY    PRISONS.  355 

whom  I  had  thought  I  heard  cry  out  as  he  was 
beaten. 

Those  and  other  recollections  oppressed  me 
like  a  distressing  dream  ;  but,  most  of  all,  the 
remembrance  of  the  two  visits  made  me  here 
by  my  poor  father,  ten  years  before.  How  the 
good  old  man  deceived  himself  with  the  hope 
that  I  should  soon  rejoin  him  at  Turin  !  Could 
he  have  supported  the  idea  of  a  ten  years'  impris- 
onment of  his  son,  and  such  an  imprisonment  ? 
But  when  these  illusions  vanished,  had  he,  had 
my  mother,  been  able  to  bear  up  under  such 
heart-rending  grief  ?  Would  it  be  granted  me 
to  see  them  both  again  ?  or,  perhaps,  only  one 
of  them  ?  and  which  } 

O  tormenting  and  ever-recurring  doubts  !  I 
was,  as  I  may  say,  at  the  door  of  my  father's 
house,  and  yet  knew  not  if  my  parents  were 
living  ;    if  even  one  of  my  family  were  living. 

The  director  of  police  received  me  politely, 
and  allowed  me  to  remain  at  the  Bella  Venczia 
with  the  imperial  commissary,  instead  of  putting 
me  in  custody  elsewhere,  I  was  projiibitcd, 
however,  from  showing  myself  to  any  one,  and 
I  therefore  determined  to  proceed  on  the  follow- 
ing morning.     I  only  obtained  leave  to  see  the 


356  MY    PRISONS. 

Piedmontese  consul,  that  I  might  inquire  of 
him  concerning  my  relatives.  I  should  have 
called  on  him,  but  being  attacked  by  fever 
and  obliged  to  go  to  bed,  I  begged  him  to  come 
to  me. 

He  had  the  kindness  not  to  make  me  wait, 
and  oh  how  grateful  I  was  to  him  ! 

He  gave  me  good  news  of  my  father,  and  of 
my  eldest  brother.  With  regard  to  my  mother, 
my  other  brother,  and  my  two  sisters,  I  re- 
mained  in  cruel  uncertainty. 

In  part,  but  in  part  only,  delivered  from  anx- 
iety, I  could  have  wished,  in  order  to  relieve 
my  mind,  to  prolong  the  conversation  with  the 
consul.  He  was  not  sparing  of  his  kindness,  but 
was  obliged  to  leave  me. 

When  left  alone  I  had  need  of  tears,  but 
they  flowed  not.  Why  is  it  that  grief  some- 
times makes  me  burst  into  tears,  but  more 
commonly,  when  it  seems  to  me  as  if  to  weep 
would  be  a  great  relief,  I  wish  for  tears  in 
vain  }  This  inability  of  giving  vent  to  my  feel- 
ings increased  my  fever  ;  my  head  ached  vio- 
lently. 

I  asked  Stundberger  to  bring  me  some  water. 
This   good    man    was    a   sergeant   of   police  at 


MY    PRISONS.  357 

Vienna,  acting  as  valet  to  the  commissary.  He 
was  not  old,  but  it  happened  that  he  gave  me 
the  water  with  a  trembling  hand.  This  trem- 
bling reminded  me  of  Schiller,  my  dear  Schiller, 
when,  on  the  first  day  of  my  arrival  at 
Spielberg,  I  asked  him  haughtily  for  the  pitcher 
of  water,   and  he  gave  it  to  me. 

How  strange  !  This  recollection,  added  to 
all  the  rest,  pierced  the  rock  of  my  heart, 
and  my  tears  flowed. 


358  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    XCVII. 

On  the  morning  of  the  10th  of  September,  I 
embraced  the  excellent  commissary,  and  de- 
parted. We  had  known  each  other  but  a 
month,  and  jet  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  been 
my  friend  for  years.  His  soul,  full  of  feeling 
for  the  beautiful  and  the  honorable,  was  devoid 
of  subtlety  or  artifice,  not  from  want  of  talents, 
but  from  that  love  of  noble  simplicity  which 
belongs  to  upright  men. 

During  the  journey,  some  one  said  to  me 
privately,  at  a  place  where  we  stopped  ;  "  Be- 
ware of  that  guardian  angel  ;  if  he  were  not 
one  of  the  wicked,  he  would  not  have  been 
given  to  you." 

"  You  are  deceived,"  said  I ;  "  I  am  thor- 
oughly persuaded  that  you  are  deceived." 

"  The  most  crafty,"  he  replied,  "  are  those 
who  appear  the  most  simple." 

"  If  it  were  so,  we  could  never  believe  in 
the  virtue  of  any  one." 

"  There  are  certain  situations  in  society, 
where   the   manners   may   be   highly  cultivated, 


MY    PRISONS.  359 

but    where   there    is    no    virtue,    no    virtue,    no 
virtue  !  " 

I  could  only  reply  ;  "  Exaggeration,  my 
friend,  exaggeration  !  " 

"  I  only  draw  necessary  inferences,"  he  per- 
sisted. 

But  we  were  interrupted.  And  I  called  to 
mind  the   Cave  a  consequentiariis*  of  Leibnitz. 

Far  too  large  a  portion  of  mankind  reason 
according  to  this  false  and  terrible  logic  ;  "  I 
follow  the  standard  A,  which  I  am  certain  is 
that  of  justice  ;  he  follows  the  standard  B, 
which  I  am  certain  is  that  of  injustice  :  there- 
fore he  is  a  villain." 

Ah  no,  mad  logicians  !  to  whatever  stand- 
ard you  belong,  do  not  reason  thus  inhumanly  ! 
Consider,  that  by  setting  out  from  some  un- 
favorable point  of  character,  (and  where  is  the 
society,  or  the  individual,  in  which  such  may 
not  be  found  ?  )  and  proceeding  with  fierce 
rigor  from  inference  to  inference,  it  is  easy  for 
any  one  to  arrive  at  this  conclusion  ;  "  Every 
mortal,  except  us  four,  deserves  to  be  burned 
alive."      And    if    a    more     critical    scrutiny    be 

"  Beware  of  inferences. 


360  MY    PRISONS. 

made,  each  of  the  four  will  say  ;  "  Every 
mortal  deserves  to  be  burned  alive  except 
myself." 

This  vulgar  severity  is  highly  unphilosophical. 
Moderate  distrust  may  be  wise  ;  excessive  dis- 
trust, never. 

After  receiving  this  hint  about  my  guardian 
angel,  I  set  myself  to  study  him  more  carefully 
than  before,  and  every  day  strengthened  my 
conviction  of  his  undesigning  and  generous 
nature. 

When  society  has  assumed  a  settled  form, 
whether  it  be  good  or  bad,  any  public  office, 
that  is  not  universally  felt  to  be  infamous,  any 
one,  the  ostensible  purpose  of  which  is  to  pro- 
mote the  public  welfare  by  honorable  means, 
and  which  is  believed  by  many  to  accomplish 
this  purpose,  any  one,  in  which  it  were  absurd 
to  deny  that  honest  men  have  sometimes  been 
employed,  may  be  filled  by  an  honest   man. 

I  have  read  of  a  Quaker  who  had  a  horror 
of  soldiers  ;  but,  seeing  one  throw  himself  into 
the  Thames  to  save  the  life  of  a  drowning  man, 
he  said  :  "  I  shall  always  be  a  Quaker,  but 
still  soldiers  have  some  good  in  them." 


MY    PRISONS.  361 


CHAPTER    XCVIII. 

Stundberger  attended  me  to  the  carriage, 
which  I  entered  with  a  brigadier  of  gendar- 
merie, to  whom  I  had  been  intrusted.  It  rained, 
and  the  wind  blew  cold. 

"Wrap  yourself  up  well  in  your  cloak,"  said 
Stundberger,  "  cover  your  head  better,  take  care 
not  to  arrive  at  home  sick  ;  a  little  thing  will 
give  you  a  cold.  How  sorry  I  am  I  cannot 
attend  on  you  as  far  as  Turin  !  " 

And  all  this  he  said  cordially,  and  with  a  tone 
of  true  feeling  ! 

"  From  this  time  forward,"  he  added,  "  per- 
haps you  may  never  have  a  German  near  you  ; 
perhaps  you  may  never  again  hear  that  language 
which  Italians  think  so  harsh  ;  and,  probably, 
you  will  care  very  little  for  it.  You  have  suf- 
fered so  much  among  the  Germans,  that  you 
will  not  be  very  desirous  of  remembering  us. 
Nevertheless  I,  whose  name  you  will  soon  for- 
get, I,  Signorc,  sli.ill   alway.s  pray  for  you," 

"And  I  for  you,"  I  replied,  taking  his  hand 
for  the  last  time. 


362  MY    PRISONS. 

The  poor  man  called  out  again  :  Guten  Mor- 
gen  !  gute  Reise  !  lehen  Sie  wohl  !  (Good  morn- 
ing, a  pleasant  journey,  farewell  !  )  They  were 
the  last  German  words  I  heard,  and  their  sounds 
were  as  pleasant  to  me,  as  those  of  my  own 
language. 

I  passionately  love  my  own  country,  but  I 
have  no  hatred  toward  any  other.  There  is  a 
diversity  among  nations  as  regards  civilization, 
riches,  power,  and  glory  ;  but  in  all  there  are 
souls  obedient  to  the  great  vocation  of  man,  to 
love,  to  pity,  and  to  do  good. 

The  brigadier  who  accompanied  me,  told  me 
that  he  was  one  of  those  who  arrested  my  most 
unhappy  friend,  Confalonieri.  He  told  me  how 
he  had  attempted  to  escape,  how  he  had  failed, 
how  he  was  torn  from  the  arms  of  his  wife, 
and  how  both  Confalonieri  and  she  were  agi- 
tated, although  they  sustained  this  misfortune 
with  dignity. 

I  burned  with  fever  as  I  listened  to  this 
sad  story,  and  an  iron  hand  seemed  to  press 
upon  my  heart. 

The  narrator,  a  well-meaning  man,  who 
talked  with  confiding  sociability,  did  not  per- 
ceive, that,  although  I  had  no  fault  to  find  with 


MY    PRISONS.  363 

him,  yet  I  could   not   look   without   shuddering 
upon  the  hands  which  had  seized  my  friend. 

At  Buffalora  he  breakfasted  ;  I  was  too  much 
distressed,  I  could  take  nothing. 

Once,  in  years  long  since  past,  when  I  Avaa 
in  the  country  at  Arluno  with  Count  Porro'a 
sons,  I  used  sometimes  to  walk  to  Buffalora 
along  the  Ticino. 

I  rejoiced  to  observe  the  beautiful  bridge 
completed,  the  materials  for  which  I  had  seen 
scattered  on  the  Lombard  shore,  with  the  belief, 
then  common,  that  the  work  would  never  be 
finished.  I  rejoiced  to  cross  that  river,  and 
again  touch  the  Piedmontese  soil.  Ah,  though 
I  love  all  nations,  God  knows  how  greatly  I 
prefer  Italy  ;  and  though  I  so  delight  in  Italy, 
God  knows  how  much  dearer  to  me  than  the 
name  of  any  other  Italian  country,  is  that  of 
Piedmont,  the  land  of  my  fathers  ! 


364  MY    PRISONS. 


CHAPTER    XCIX. 

Opposite  to  Buffalora  is  San  Martino.  Here 
the  Lombard  brigadier  spoke  to  some  Pied- 
montese  carbineers  ;  he  then  saluted  me  and 
re-crossed  the  bridge. 

"Take  the  road  to  Novara,"  said  I  to  the 
vetturino. 

"  Have  the  goodness  to  wait  a  moment," 
said  a  carbineer. 

I  saw  that  I  was  not  yet  free,  and  it  grieved 
me  ;  for  I  feared  that  it  might  delay  my  arrival 
at  home. 

After  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  a  gen- 
tleman made  his  appearance,  and  asked  per- 
mission to  go  to  Novara  with  me.  He  had 
missed  a  former  opportunity  ;  there  was  now  no 
carriage  but  mine  ;  he  should  be  very  happy, 
if  I  would  allow  him  to  take  advantage  of  it, 
&.C.  &c. 

This  carbineer  in  disguise  was  of  an  amiable 
disposition,  and  kept  me  company  agreeably  as 
far  as  Novara.  When  we  arrived  in  that  city, 
under  pretence  of  going  to  an  inn,  he  directed 


MY    PRISONS.  365 

the  carriage  to  the  barrack  of  the  carbineers  ; 
and  here  I  was  told  that  there  was  a  bed  for 
me  in  the  chamber  of  a  brigadier,  and  that  I 
must  wait  for  superior  orders. 

I  thought  I  should  be  able  to  proceed  on 
the  following  day  ;  I  lay  down,  and  after  having 
talked  awhile  with  my  host,  the  brigadier,  I 
slept  soundly.  For  a  long  time  I  had  not  rest- 
ed so  well. 

I  awoke  towards  morning,  rose  immediately, 
and  the  early  hours  seemed  long  to  me.  I 
took  breakfast,  talked,  walked  up  and  down  the 
room  and  on  the  terrace,  gave  a  glance  at  the 
books  of  my  host  ;  till,  finally,  a  visitor  was 
announced. 

An  officer  politely  came  to  give  me  news  of 
my  father,  and  to  tell  me  that  there  was  a 
letter  from  him  in  Novara,  which  would  short- 
ly be  brought  to  me.  I  was  greatly  obliged  to 
him  for  this  amiable  courtesy. 

Several  hours  passed,  which  seemed  to  me 
without  end,  when  at  last  the  letter  made  its 
appearance. 

Oh  what  joy  it  was  to  see  that  dear  hand- 
writing once  more  !  what  joy  to  hear  that  my 
mother,  my  excellent  mother,  was  still  living,  my 


366  MY    PRISONS. 

two  brothers  and  my  eldest  sister  !  Alas  !  the 
youngest,  Marietta,  who  had  become  a  nun  of 
La  Visitazione,  and  of  whom  I  had  received 
clandestine  information  while  in  prison,  had 
died  nine  months  before. 

It  is  delightful  to  me  to  believe,  that  I  owe 
my  liberty  to  all  those  who  loved  me,  and  who 
were  continually  interceding  with  God  for  me, 
and  in  particular  to  a  sister,  whose  death  was 
accompanied  by  evidences  of  great  piety.  May 
God  recompense  her  for  all  the  anguish  her 
heart  suffered  on  account  of  my  misfortunes. 

Day  after  day  passed,  and  the  permission  to 
leave  Novara  did  not  arrive.  On  the  morning 
of  the  16th  of  September  this  permission  was 
finally  granted,  and  all  supervision  on  the  part 
of  the  carbineers  ceased.  Oh,  how  many  years 
it  was  since  I  had  gone  where  I  pleased,  with- 
out being  accompanied  by  guards  ! 
.  I  obtained  some  money,  received  the  civilities 
of  some  of  my  father's  acquaintance,  and  set 
out  about  three  in  the  afternoon.  My  travelling 
companions  were  a  lady,  a  merchant,  an  en- 
graver, and  two  young  painters,  one  of  whom 
was  deaf  and  dumb.  These  painters  came  from 
Rome  ;  and  it  gave  me  pleasure  to  understand 


MY    PRISONS.  367 

that  they  knew  Maroncelh's  family.  How 
agreeable  it  is  to  speak  of  those  we  love,  with 
one  who  is  not  indifferent  to  them  ! 

We  passed  the  night  at  Vercelli.  The  hap- 
py day,  the  ITth  of  September,  arrived.  We 
continued  our  journey.  How  slowly  did  the 
carriage  move  on  !  We  did  not  arrive  at  Turin 
till  evening. 

Who  can  describe  what  I  felt,  and  what  was 
felt  by  those  dear  to  me,  when  I  again  saw 
and  embraced  my  father,  my  mother,  and  my 
brothers  ?  My  dear  sister  Giuscppina  was  not 
there,  for  her  duties  detained  her  at  Chieri  ; 
but,  when  she  heard  of  my  happiness,  she  came 
in  haste  to  pass  a  few  days  with  us.  Restored 
to  these  five  dearest  objects  of  my  affection, 
I  was,  I  am,  the  most  enviable  of  mortals. 

And  now,  for  my  past  misfortunes,  and  for 
my  present  happiness,  as  well  as  for  all  the 
good  and  evil  which  may  be  reserved  for  me, 
blessed  be  that  Providence,  in  whose  hands 
men  and  things,  wheth(;r  they  will  or  will  it 
not,  arc  the  wonderful  instruments  for  accom- 
plishing purposes,  wortliy  of  their  Divine  Au- 
thor. 

Tin;   r,N[). 


CAMBRIDGE: 
CHARLES      FOLSOM, 

PRINTER    TO    THE    UNITERSITT. 


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